


The Mortal Gamble

by Captain_Kieren



Category: Percy Jackson & The Olympians (Movies), Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Don't panic, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt Percy Jackson, Hurt/Comfort, I wouldn't do that to you, Monsters, No Major Character Death, Post-The Titan's Curse, Prophecies, Protective Percy, Quests, Romance, hurt annabeth chase, percabeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18493645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kieren/pseuds/Captain_Kieren
Summary: When Annabeth is kidnapped from Camp Half-Blood, Percy will do whatever it takes to get her back. Even if that means sacrificing his divinity and going on the quest completely mortal.With no powers, no strength, and no guarantee of ever getting his demigod blood back if he survives, this promises to be Percy's most dangerous quest yet.





	1. Percy Gets Judo Flipped On The First Day of Camp

**Author's Note:**

> Head's up: this doesn't strictly fit into the timeline because Thalia is still at camp even though this is after The Titan's Curse...so, if that bothers you, sorry yo

First day of camp. Percy’s favorite day of the year.

            Usually.

The sun is just coming up as Percy’s mom puts the car in park. Wordlessly, she pops the trunk and helps him gather his bags, slinging a few over her shoulders. It’s a fairly short walk to the camp border and he really doesn’t need her help carrying his things, but Percy doesn’t argue. His mom has been in a weird mood all day, barely speaking, hardly looking at him. Sure, she’s always a bit sad when the first day of camp rolls around, but never like this. He’s starting to get worried.

            “Mom?” he asks, tugging on his backpack. It’s heavy with contraband (chocolate bars, soda, handheld video games, thing you can’t get inside the walls of Camp Half-Blood.) “Are you sure you’re okay?” He’s asked about a dozen times already, but she just gives him this flat, little smile and says, “yes, honey. I’m fine.”

            She closes the trunk, turns toward camp, and starts walking. Percy frowns at her back but follows behind her. This doesn’t feel her normal moodiness, but still, he has to try.

            “Hey,” he says, jogging to get next to her. “You know, I don’t have to go today.” His mom shoots him a weird look, but he continues talking. “I mean, if you want me to hang around for a while longer, I can. Camp is open all summer. I don’t really get to hang out with you very much anymore between quests and school, and if you want, I can stick around for a while.” Mom stops walking and drops the bags in her hands. Percy stops too, wondering if he said something wrong. But his mom’s expression isn’t angry. She looks worried.

            “Oh, sweetheart.” She rushes in and throws her arms around his shoulders, peppering kisses into his hair. “You’re such a good boy,” she whispers.

            Percy hugs her back, but now he’s only more confused. “I’m serious,” he tells her. “If you want me to stay for a while, I will.”

            She releases him and finally, the smile on her face doesn’t look forced. But now there are tears in her eyes. “No, honey, go to camp. Have fun, be with your friends.” She sniffles and swipes at the tears that have spilled onto her cheeks. Percy stares, super unsure of what’s going on and even less sure of what to do about it. “Just…promise me something,” his mom says.

            “Anything.”

            She smiles at him like he is her moon and stars. “If something happens this summer,” she says, speaking very deliberately. “If you’re in danger, please, Percy…please…” She takes his hands and squeezes. “Please call me before you do anything rash. Please don’t just disappear off the face of the Earth like you always do.”

            Oh. That’s what this is about.

            Percy tries his best to look at ease even though his mom’s obvious fear is getting to him. “Yeah, of course, I will,” he says. “Promise.”

            She smiles. “Thank you, Percy.” Then she leans down and kisses the top of his head again. And just like that, she pulls herself to together and her attitude changes. She stoops to pick up his bags and starts asking him what he’s most excited about this summer.

            “Seeing everyone else, for sure,” he says. He hasn’t seen Annabeth, or Grover, or Tyson, or anyone in months. And sure, he has friends at his new school, but it’s different with mortal friends. It’s all shopping malls and skateparks and TV. Nothing real. Lately, he’s been feeling like he’s drifting at sea with no wind in his sail. It’s like the divinity in his blood is aching to stretch its legs. He needs to train.

            Even seeing Clarisse would be a relief right now.

            Mom gives him a knowing little eyebrow. “Have you heard from Annabeth lately?”

            Percy focuses on watching his step as they climb the last big hill before the camp entrance. “Not for a while,” he mumbles, his cheeks warming considerably. He tries to tell himself it’s just the exertion of the walk making him hot.

            Mom hums but Percy swears she’s smirking and that only makes him more embarrassed.

            Not a moment too soon, the towering archway comes into view. On either side are blazing torches ten-feet tall and on the sign in the middle, ancient Greek letters scramble in front of Percy’s eyes to read Camp Half-Blood. A little shiver of excitement prickles up his back.

            They pass the abnormally tall pine tree that was once Thalia, with the Golden Fleece still flapping from its lowest branch like a glowing flag. Beside it is a half-blood in full armor, guarding the Fleece. He nods in acknowledgment as Percy and his mother go by.

            “Hey,” Percy says but the guard only frowns. Oh, right. Percy would recognize those miserable eyes anywhere. Child of Ares. All of Ares’s children hate Percy’s guts, the only somewhat-exception being Clarisse, who he went on a quest with last year. And even she doesn’t like him.

            They climb the rest of the way up the hill, leaving Thalia’s tree and the Son of Ares behind. At the crest of the wooded slope, Percy’s mom stops and sets down his bag.

            “This is as far as I can go,” she says with a sigh. Percy nods. As much as he loves camp, he hates this part. Saying goodbye for another three months. “Love you, baby. Call me.” She hugs him.

            “Love you, Mom.” Percy picks up the bags. “I will.” As he starts to turn for camp, his mom tells him to wait and takes his wrist. Her eyes are serious again.

            “Percy,” she says and the look on her face makes his heart pound. “Remember what I told you. No matter what happens this summer, don’t do anything crazy. Please.”

            This gives him pause. Percy regards his mother. She’s always been protective, how could she not be with a half-blood for a son? But this is…unusual, even for her. It’s almost like she knows something he doesn’t. “Mom, what’s going on?”

            And for a second, it almost seems like she’s going to tell him. But she just shakes her head. “Nothing, sweetheart. Just going to miss you, that’s all. Now go on. Camp is the safest place for you.”

 

* * *

 

Percy can’t stop thinking about it even an hour later.

He pretty much went straight to his cabin to unpack. Cabin three, the one dedicated to Poseidon, is packed with ocean paraphernalia like canoes, anchors, nets dotted with dried starfish and clam shells... At the far end is the newest addition, sent by the sea god himself: a pearl and marble fountain gushing clean, sparkling water. In its mouth are fistfuls of gold drachmas that never run out. And now that Percy is unpacked, there are touches of home too. Like his minotaur horn, which he hangs above his bed beside the shield Tyson made for him, and under a loose floorboard next to his bed is where he hides his super-secret-stash-of-outside-world-goodies.

Speaking of Tyson, Percy hasn’t heard from his half-brother lately either. He’s been interning at Poseidon’s forges the last couple of years, but occasionally he drops by Camp Half-Blood to visit. Percy wonders if he’ll get to see him this summer.

At precisely eight o’clock in the morning, a horn calls from camp and Percy smiles. The first day is officially commencing.

 

* * *

 

You’ve never seen Camp Half-Blood until you’ve seen it during the summer. Any other season, there is hardly anyone here, just the year-rounders, the kids with nowhere else to go. But during the summer, hundreds of kids appear out of the woodwork, some as young as eleven or twelve. Others much older, almost eighteen.

            They congregate in the center green, inside and outside of the open-air dining pavilion with its tall, Greek columns. Some kids are dressed in their camp attire, orange shirts and workout pants. Others are still wearing their street clothes, like Percy. Satyrs and nymphs mingle among them, dotting the crowd with curving ram horns and the aura of nature magic.

            Percy spots several familiar faces among them: the Stoll brothers, Charles Beckendorf, Silena Beauregard… As he’s weaving through the crowd, he even catches a glimpse of Clarisse jostling with the other Ares kids. She doesn’t see him though, so he keeps moving.

            At the center of the throng is Chiron, standing on a raised platform, regarding everyone coolly. He’s seemingly the first person here to notice Percy and he inclines his chin and smiles. Percy waves back and that’s when he hears hoofbeats incoming extremely fast. He whirls around just a little too slow to stop Grover from barreling into him in his excitement.

            “Percy!” Grover exclaims, hugging him tightly.

            “Grover!” Percy laughs, a little breathless, but he squeezes back. “Hey, man!”

            Grover releases him, a huge grin on his face. “How you been? It’s been a while!”

            “Yeah, it has been,” Percy agrees. “Too long. Where’s—” But before he can ask, Chiron blows his horn again and everyone turns to attention.

            “Welcome back, everyone,” Chiron says, and if Percy didn’t know better, he’d say the centaur’s chest was puffed up with pride at this year’s impressive showing. The satyrs must be doing an incredible job seeking this year. There are so many new faces. “And to everyone for whom this is your first year, welcome to Camp Half-Blood!”

            There’s an explosion of cheers and applause from the veteran campers, who are so ecstatic to be back that the air feels like almost electric. Oh, wait. No, that’s—A fist bumps into Percy’s arm. He turns and finds Thalia standing behind him, grinning just a bit.

            “Hey, Percy.”

            Percy breaks into a smile. “Thalia, hey!”

            “In celebration of the beginning of another year at our beloved camp, I propose a game of capture the flag tonight,” Chiron continues, eliciting another round of cheers. “Excellent. Team captains will be selected at dinner. For now, get settled in. Today is a free day, but there are jousting lessons being held in the east clearing for those who wish to get a head start.”

            Percy is thinking about attending as the crowd disperses, and he sees a familiar, blonde head walking by. He smiles when he realizes Annabeth hasn’t seen them yet. He gestures to Grover and Thalia, who catch on extremely quick. Grover chuckles and almost starts bleating happily as the three of them sneak up behind Annabeth, who is now chatting with one of her half-siblings from Athena cabin.

            The girl Annabeth is talking to sees them coming, of course, but Percy puts a finger to his lips and she barely contains her smile. Once he’s within arm’s reach, Percy’s brain apparently short-circuits because, in that moment, he thinks that startling a demigod daughter of Athena would be a fun, little thing to do. Spoiler: it is not.

            He says, “RAHH!” and grabs her left shoulder, just enough to make her jump. But, being Annabeth, she reacts by grabbing his wrist and judo-throwing him to the ground, landing on his chest with her knee. Her fist is an inch away from his face before she realizes it’s him.

            “Oh!” she gasps, staring down at him wide, grey eyes that turn annoyed the moment she realizes it’s him. “ _Percy!_ ” she says, exasperated. “What is wrong with you?”

            “Oof, everything apparently.” He rolls to his side and sits up, rotating his sore wrist. “Nice reflexes though. At least you’re not out of practice.”

            Now, Annabeth seems a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” she says, helping him up. “I’ve been taking classes back home to stay in shape.”

            “Jeez, what kind of classes?” Grover asks, patting a patch of dirt off Percy’s back. “Murder classes?”

            Annabeth gives him a withering look. “Self-defense. My dad lives in San Francisco now, you know. Monster central? I’ve got to stay in shape.”

            “Hey, Annabeth,” Thalia says. They hug briefly, then Grover slides in and squeezes the two of them at the same time. As Grover and Thalia move away, Percy approaches Annabeth with a bit of a nervous ball in his throat, for some reason.

            Annabeth grins awkwardly, picking a blade of grass out of his hair. “Sorry again.”

            “I think I’ll live,” Percy says, grinning.

Annabeth snickers and throws her arms around his shoulders. “It’s good to see you, Percy,” she says quietly, just for him to hear.

“All right!” Grover says, clapping his hands. Annabeth lets go of Percy and moves away, to Percy’s slight disappointment. “Anyone for breakfast? They’re serving a full buffet in the dining pavilion.”

“I could go for some food,” Thalia says.

“Me too,” Annabeth agrees.

Percy follows them, smiling to himself. He hasn’t even done anything yet, but just being near his friends is already making him feel better. Still, he can’t shake the foreboding sensation creeping up his spine, or his mother’s voice saying, _Please, Percy._

 

* * *

 

The dining pavilion is bustling as always, so they grab their food to go. It’s not customarily accepted to eat anywhere else, but it is a free day, so the rules are a little more lax. After piling their plates high with pancakes, bacon, and eggs, they join the line of half-bloods at the fireplace, scraping offerings into the flames for the gods.

            Percy offers more than usual and whispers, “For Poseidon. Happy summer, Dad.” He swears he smells a crisp sea breeze a moment later, but then it’s gone. Still, his spirits are higher than they have been for weeks. He follows his friends outside and listens as they debate where to eat on this rare free day.

            “How about the strawberry fields?” Annabeth suggests.

            “Oh! Oh! Or the shore of canoe lake,” Grover says.

            “Why? So you can ogle over the naiads?” Thalia deadpans and Grover huffs as if he’s offended.

            “I resent that!” he says. “My intentions were completely pure.”

            “Uh-huh,” both the girls say.

            Percy about to second the strawberry fields when he smells ocean breeze again, only twice as strong this time, and much less pleasant. This breeze smells heavy, like the sea at storm. He stops, looking around, but he’s not sure what he’s looking for. It’s not like Poseidon is going to be standing in the middle of camp, but that breeze felt like his dad’s hand on his back, saying _brace yourself_.

            “Percy?” Annabeth asks. She and the others have stopped too and are watching him, and he must look worried because she asks, “What’s wrong?”

            “Uh…” He does a full three-sixty. “Nothing.”

            “Are you sure?” Thalia asks, stepping closer. As another child of the Big Three, Thalia can sometimes understand Percy’s moods better than others. “You looked like you felt something.”

            There’s no danger, and therefore no reason to tell them. But there’s also no reason to not tell them, so he does. “It’s okay. I just…kind of thought I felt my dad’s presence for a second there.”

            Annabeth and Grover exchange concerned looks.

            “Poseidon’s presence? Are you sure?” Thalia asks.

            “Yeah. It was pretty distinct.”

            Thalia looks troubled. “Is this the first time this has happened lately?”

            “Yeah—well, no. I felt it earlier too, at the pavilion. But it was right after I made my offering, so I just thought…I don’t know. He was saying hi or something.”

            Thalia’s look is sympathetic, and even though she doesn’t say anything, he knows what that look is saying. _The gods never just say hi._

 

* * *

 

They eat breakfast in relatively good spirits, despite Poseidon’s breeze. And afterwards, they hit the arena for some light sparring and the others walk on the beach while Percy helps a trapped shark get loose from some debris. That takes a while and, by the time he’s done, it’s nearly lunch time. He’s almost nervous to make his offering, but when he does, nothing happens. There’s no wind, not even a handshake from dear old dad. So Percy tries to relax.

            After lunch, they go for a long hike to the top of Zeus’s Fist and then collapse on the massive hill for a rest.

            “So, what are we thinking, strategy-wise for capture the flag?” Thalia wants to know.

            Percy looks at Annabeth. She is the wisdom-goddess’s daughter, after all. And even though Annabeth gives him a look like _why do I always have to come up with the plans?_ she sighs and says, “Well, I did have one idea…”

            Percy smiles and listens as she walks them through the strategy. There’s a light wind on the hills today, warm and summery and smelling of strawberries and trees. Percy lets his eyes fall shut, folding his arms under his head.

            He falls into the dream almost instantly.

            He’s standing in a dark hall. It must have been beautiful once, he thinks.

The floors are marbled and intricately designed with images of bulls and suns. The walls are incredibly high and domed in the middle like the Sistine chapel, but the painting on this dome is chilling, not beautiful. It shows a horned figure presiding over the sun and earth, and sitting below him are two other figures. A man and a woman, sitting in high-backed thrones. The man must be a king, but he looks tiny and insignificant next to his wife. She has the same golden hue as the sun-figure, minus the horns.

Sitting at her feet like a child in a Renaissance painting is another figure, though this one is clearly not human. Percy has met that child before. It’s the minotaur.

At that realization, the hall plunges into darkness and he hears hoofbeats pounding in the black. He spins in a blind circle, fishing for Riptide, but he doesn’t have it. The minotaur is charging. And just before it kills him, Percy hears Annabeth screaming.


	2. Annabeth Explodes

Percy wakes in a cold sweat.

            He must not have been asleep long because his friends are exactly where they were before he dozed off, still talking strategy by the sound of it. If they don’t notice him wake up, they certainly do when he scrambles to his feet, trembling like a leaf.

            “Percy?” Annabeth’s voice shoots up an octave at something she sees about him. “What’s wrong? You’re so pale all of a sudden.” She and the others jump up to follow him, but he’s moving fast for someone who just woke up. “Percy? Percy!”

            Thalia is the one who catches him. And maybe it was intentional, or maybe she’s worked up and nervous, but a little shock of electricity stabs up Percy’s arm. Accident or not, it snaps him out of it. He stops walking and stares at them with huge, green eyes. He looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

            Annabeth touches his cheek and then pulls her hand away like his skin is acid. “Oh, my gods. You’re freezing!”

            “I n-need to c-call my mom,” he says, his voice trembling. “Need to ask her—” But he wavers and almost falls down. Thankfully, Grover is there to steady him.

            “Here, man.” Grover strips off his jacket and drapes it over Percy’s shoulders to keep him warm. “You look like death.”

            “Percy, tell us what’s going on,” Thalia insists.

            But Percy barely knows, himself. He just has a really, really bad feeling and it actually has very little to do with the minotaur. “I think something big is about to happen,” he gasps, still shivering. “I had a dream. And I’ve been feeling Poseidon’s presence. And earlier, my mom, she was acting funny…like she knew something was going to happen.”

            “But if that’s true, why wouldn’t she warn you?” Annabeth asks.

            Percy shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just need to call her.”

            His friends nod and personally escort him to cabin three, Grover lending a shoulder to lean on the whole way. As soon as he plunges his hand into the fountain to fish out a drachma, Percy feels a hundred times better. Still, he flicks the coin into the misty rainbow and says, “Oh, goddess Iris, accept my offering.” The coin disappears and he adds, “Sally Jackson, New York.”

            A wavery image manifests in the rainbow, his mother hunched over the kitchen table doing homework. “Mom,” he says and she startles.

            “Oh, Percy! Hello, sweetie. How is your first day going?”

            “Mom,” he says, breathlessly. “Poseidon contacted you, didn’t he?”

            He feels his friends look at each other in shock, and his mother looks equally as surprised. “What? Honey, what makes you—”

            “You. This morning,” he says, cutting her off before she can play innocent. “You were acting weird. You know you were. And you told me to call you if something happened like you expected something. What was it?”

            Sally gapes at him. “Percy, I can’t…”

            “Please,” he says. “This is important. I know it is.” Maybe he isn’t being fair. If his mom were able or allowed, to tell him, she already would have. Forcing her isn’t the nicest thing he could do, but there’s a ball of dread in his stomach so heavy and black it feels like a bowling ball.

            Finally, his mom sighs. “Are you alone?”

            “Yes,” he lies. And again, his friends look at each other.

            “Your father visited me in my dreams last night,” she admits. “He isn’t allowed to speak with you directly, as you know.” Percy nods, urging her on. “But he was concerned, and needed someone to talk to…” She bites her lip. “Percy…he fears you may be about to make a big mistake.”

            “What mistake?” What mistake could he make that would bring him to that black hall with the minotaur? What mistake could he make that would hurt Annabeth?

            “He doesn’t know.”

            Percy groans and rubs his neck. Great help, dad.

            “Listen to me, Percy,” his mom says, getting his attention back. “This isn’t a prophecy, merely a…ripple, as he called it. A disturbance that he feels in the sea. He said it felt like you. Like something big was going to happen to you that would—” She stops.

            “That would what?” He feels his friends listening on the edges of their metaphorical seats.

            But his mom looks terrified again, like this morning. She lowers her voice like she’s afraid some cosmic entity might hear her and bring doom down upon all their heads. “That would destroy you.”

            Percy’s blood turns to ice.

 

* * *

 

“Destroy?” Grover asks, chewing nervously on a scrap of bark from the woods. “What does that mean? The prophecy didn’t say ‘kill’ it said ‘destroy.’ What does that mean?” His voice is high and reedy.

            “It wasn’t a prophecy,” Percy says lowly.

            “No, but is that better or worse? I mean, prophecies sometimes have multiple meanings. But what do Poseidon’s words mean then? Are they literal or metaphorical?” Thalia wonders.

            “Either way, it doesn’t sound good,” Annabeth says.

            Percy hums. “Well,” he says. “I guess that just means I have to avoid making bad decisions for a while.”

            At the same time, all three of his friends scoff.

            “Hey!”

            “Sorry, Percy,” Grover says, patting his shoulder. “But you are the king of bad choices.”

            “Seriously,” Thalia agrees. “If there was ever a patron god of horrible decisions, it would be you. No offense.”

            Percy gapes at them. “Offence taken, actually.”

           

* * *

 

But there’s nothing else to do except wait and hope nothing catastrophic happens. Dinner comes and goes and then it’s time for capture the flag.

The two team captains are Clarisse and Thalia. Percy isn’t feeling like co-captaining so she puts him on defense and he gladly accepts. Annabeth is placed on offense so they say their goodbyes and he watches her charge into the dark woods, sword in hand.

Blue team flag is placed in the river, where the other team won’t think to look right away because it’s so out in the open. That, and if there’s a fight, Percy is right near the water where he needs to be.

He stands there, twirling Riptide, and waits to be discovered. He can hear the clanging of swords and shields in the distance, as well as the occasional flash of lightning from Thalia, but no one ventures near him. At this rate, Annabeth will get the red flag before anyone even figures out where he is. Which is the point, he supposes.

Minutes tick by agonizingly slow. Percy sighs and tosses Riptide between his hands, watching the river flow.

Poseidon contacted mom in her dreams to give her a warning. About him. Part of him feels a little honored that Poseidon would even be worried about him. The other part is a tad bit bitter. Why can’t he just contact Percy’s dreams? Is that considered too “direct” for Zeus?

Percy sighs again and steps into the river, just to feel the water on his skin. He looks around in all directions, then groans and sheathes Riptide, sticking it back in his pocket. He’s expecting Annabeth to come racing down here any second with the other team’s flag.

What he doesn’t expect is the explosion.

An ear-imploding KABOOM rocks the earth under his feet. It happens somewhere far off in the woods, but shards of rock and chunks of dirt rain down on him, even from this distance.

Percy’s first thought is, _it’s happening_.

He takes off running as the startled voices around him swell louder. _What was that!_ they gasp. _Is everyone okay?_

The smoke is so thick as he gets closer that it’s nearly suffocating. “Hey! Everybody okay? Is anybody hurt?” he yells.

The trees near the detonation zone are on fire. Terrified nymphs and satyrs are working their nature magic to tame the flames while dazed half-bloods check each other for injuries. Grover and Thalia are among them. Their faces are singed and black but otherwise, they look okay. No casualties.

“Percy!” Grover exclaims, rushing over to him. “Thank gods! Are you okay?”

“I was all the way over by the creek,” Percy says. “I’m fine. What happened!”

“Nobody knows,” Thalia says. There’s a big dent in her chest place that looks like it came from shrapnel from the explosion. If she hadn’t been wearing it, she might have gotten hurt. “Annabeth and I were trying to work over to the other team’s territory when there was this big flash. Then it was like the ground just… _blew up!_ ”

“Wait,” Percy says, glancing around. “Where is Annabeth?”

“She’s right—” Thalia turns, but where she’s pointing is just empty, smoldering grass. Thalia whirls back around, her stormy eyes wide. “She was right there.”

Percy’s heart squeezes. “Annabeth?” he yells, forcing his voice to climb over the other yelling demigods around him. “Annabeth! Where are you?”

“Annabeth!” Grover calls.

Thalia scrambles up on a topped tree and cups her mouth. “ANNABETH!”

Nothing. No response.

Percy sprints through the confused crowd, bypassing Chiron and Mr. D altogether. He must scan a hundred faces, but there’s no way Annabeth would have run this far away from the epicenter and not come back to check things out. So, he doubles back, stopping to ask people if they’ve seen her. Every answer is the same: no.

As he gets closer to the explosion site, he hears Grover and Thalia yelling for Annabeth, but he hears no answering call.

He stops, panting, feeling the night sky bearing down on him.

Annabeth is gone.

 

* * *

 

“Please, everybody calm down,” Chiron is saying. His fore-hooves are standing on the fallen tree that Thalia found, his hands cupping his mouth like a megaphone. “Until we know what happened, I must ask everyone to evacuate the north woods, nymphs and satyrs included.”

            Mr. D is standing by the smoking crater that was once forest floor. Now, it’s a cavity in the face of the earth four feet deep and about six feet around.

            Dionysus’s hands are in his pockets, and by the indifferent look on his face, you would never suspect him to be interested in the hole. Except that he can’t tear his eyes off of it. “Hmm,” he says to himself.

            Percy shoves through the crowd, ignoring the huffs and grunts of his fellow campers as he practically barrels them down. “Chiron!” he says, drawing his attention.

            “What is it, Percy?” Chiron asks when he sees the distress on his face.

            “It’s Annabeth,” Percy says, breathless from shoving through the crowd. “She’s…she’s gone.”

            “Gone?” Chiron stares at him like he isn’t sure whether he heard him right. “As in—”

            “Missing,” Percy says before Chiron can say the worse thing. “We can’t find her.”

            Despite how horrible that is, Chiron visibly relaxes. He thought Annabeth was dead, killed in the explosion. “We will set up a search party for her immediately,” he says with a stern nod. “Who would like to volunteer—”

            Several arms shoot up before he can even finish, but the whole thing is thrown for a loop when Mr. D steps up beside Chiron and says, “No need. Annabelle isn’t missing.”

            “ _Annabeth,_ ” Percy hisses. How can Dionysus pretend not to know her name at a time like this? She could be hurt!

            “What do you mean, Dionysus?” Chiron asks. “You know where she is?”

            “Mmm, not where she is, only what took her. Specifically, a leucrocotta, meaning, she is likely dead and digested already.”

            Percy feels himself go cold. “Leucrocotta?” he says. “What’s that?”

            “A monster,” Chiron tells him without looking away from Mr. D. “A dog-wolf creature with the voice of a human and an extreme intellect. But I fail to see how a leucrocotta can be connected with this explosion. Intelligent or not, they are still dogs.”

            Mr. D sneers at Chiron, obviously annoyed with the challenge to his word. “I sense its presence here, even now, _centaur_ ,” Dionysus says. “A leucrocotta was here, without a doubt. Obviously, it was working with another monster.”

            “Hmm.” Chiron rubs his chin. “This is troubling. How would not one, but two monsters enter the camp without our knowing it?”

            Behind Percy, Grover elbows Thalia. “Did you feel anything? Like, a disturbance or something?”

            “Why would I feel something?” Thalia demands, sounding mildly offended.

            “Well…you know…because you used to be—”

            “What? A tree? No, Grover. I didn’t _feel_ any disturbance in the force. I would have mentioned it if I had.”

            “Yeesh, sorry. Okay.”

            Apparently, the stress is getting to Thalia too. She isn’t usually so short-tempered.

            “Look,” Percy snaps, too worried and irritated to be afraid of Mr. D. “I don’t care what took her! I don’t care where she is! We need to find her. I’ll go myself. Just tell me where to go.”

            “Percy—” Chiron starts to protest.

            “I will go with him,” Thalia volunteers.

            Grover clops up next to Percy and says, “Me too!”

            “I fear it is not so simple—” Chiron says, only to be interrupted again.

            “You see, Chiron? Taken care of. These three, brave heroes are going to go find little Annalise and bring her home,” Mr. D says, suddenly studying the label of a Merlot that wasn’t in his hand a second ago. “Problem solved.”

            “Dionysus, don’t you think we’re being rash? The leucrocotta is extremely dangerous!” Chiron protests. As eager as he is to find Annabeth, Percy can understand Chiron’s confusion. Since when is Mr. D excited about sending heroes on quests? “And we still don’t know how these creatures got into the camp.”

            Then, the most surprising thing happens. Clarisse, of all people, steps forward with a handful of her Ares-children siblings. “Chiron, sir,” she says loudly. “If Annabeth truly is in so much danger, then it might be a good idea for Jackson and his friends to leave as soon as possible. The Ares cabin will investigate the camp while they’re gone to determine how the monsters got within our borders, with your permission.”

            Chiron stares at them. Percy can’t tell if his expression is shocked, or proud, or both. Once upon a time, it would be a cold day in Hades before Clarisse would side with him on anything. Maybe they're all maturing.

            Finally, Chiron sighs and bobs his head. “Very well,” he relents. “Percy, Thalia, and Grover, the three of you shall visit the Oracle to find what you must know about your quest. Clarisse and any other volunteers who wish to help solve this mystery, come with me.”

            And that’s how day one at Camp Half-Blood ends, with monsters invading the camp, Annabeth missing, and the quiet voice in Percy’s head whispering, _Dad knew._


	3. Percy and Thalia Have a Moment at the Bus Stop

It doesn’t matter how many times Percy climbs these dusty stairs, it never stops being spooky.

            The attic of the Big House is darker than usual. The air tastes like dust and old wood. As Percy, Thalia, and Grover approach the mummy, candles that dot the room suddenly bloom with fire. The light and green smoke billowing from the Oracle of Delphi’s mouth glint off the pieces of armor and weaponry strewn about the room. The effect is dizzying like strobe lights.

            Grover’s teeth chatter and Percy gets the sense he’s never been up here before.

Thalia, at least, carries herself with some level of coolness, though her hands are balled so tightly into fists that her knuckles have turned white.

The three of them stop in front of mummy and glance at each other uncertainly. Who is supposed to speak?

            Finally, Percy clears his throat he steps forward. “Oracle,” he says. “We need to know how to find Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena. She’s gone missing, possibly taken by a leucrocotta. She could be in danger. Please, help us.”

            The mummy stares at them in silence, green smoke swirling around her prune-like face. Her dead eyes wink in the flickering candles, and finally, after several seconds, Percy hears her crusty rising in his head like a distant wave.

_“Three shall go south to seek their lost companion,_

_The child of the sea shall taint divine blood,_

_The witch of the waves will show the way,_

_Only one shall reach the wise daughter,_

_And that one shall perish in the water.”_

“What?” Thalia asks, daring to step closer. “Perish in the water? What does that mean?” Her voice is high and nervous, but the smoke recedes back inside the mummy’s mouth and candles snuff themselves, plunging the room into pitch blackness. Percy steps backwards, almost crashing into Grover.

            Thalia says faintly, “I think we should go now.”

            “Good idea,” Grover agrees.

            The three of them evacuate the attic, chilled and shaky. Chiron is waiting for them when they get downstairs. His arms are folded behind his back and the last of the Ares kids are just now marching out, ready to begin their investigation.

            “Well?” Chiron asks, studying their pale faces. “Did the Oracle speak to you?”

            “Yes, sir,” Thalia says. Her voice is still hushed.

            “And what did it say?”

            All eyes turn on Percy. He’s the only one the prophecy specifically mentioned, meaning it belongs to him. _The child of the sea shall taint divine blood._ What does that mean? He repeats the prophecy to Chiron, whose expression darkens with every line. _And that one shall perish in the water._

            “I do not like this,” Chiron tells them.

            “Well, there isn’t anything we can do to stop it now,” Percy says, staring at his feet, trying to think of another meaning for _perish in the water._ “It’s a prophecy now. It’s been told. We can’t fight it.”

            “I know,” Chiron says. “But please, you three, be careful. And remember that not every prophecy is as it seems. Watch yourselves out there.”

            “Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

 

Percy returns to cabin three long enough to pack.

            It feels strange putting a bag together, having just unpacked everything this morning. It feels like weeks ago. He places a change of clothes, some nectar and ambrosia, and a fistful of drachmas into his backpack. Riptide is safely in his pocket, and as much as he wants to bring Tyson’s shield, it’s too dented to work properly, so he leaves it behind. He’s about to walk out when he remembers his dream, which he is now certain was a premonition.

            The Minotaur.

            He stops and looks at the horn on his wall, chewing his lip. At the last minute, he grabs the horn and stuffs it into his pack. Might come in handy.

            When he gets outside, Thalia and Grover are just arriving as well. Their bags are packed, Grover has his fake feet on, and their expressions are grim.

            “Well,” Percy says, walking out to meet them. “Where do you guys think we should go?”

            “The oracle said south,” Grover mutters, rubbing the few bristles on his chin.

            “That’s not very specific,” Thalia says.

            “But she also mentioned a witch of the waves,” Percy says. “So, maybe the beach?”

            “Yeah, good thinking. Percy…” Thalia bites her cheek and looks at him out of the tops of her eyes, like she’s afraid to say what’s on her mind. “Um, this prophecy seems to be almost entirely about you, right? That wasn’t just me?”

            “No,” he admits. “It wasn’t just you.”

            “So, I was thinking…maybe I should take point on this one. You know, just to be safe.”

            Percy is almost touched that Thalia would be concerned for him. He likes her, sure, but they’ve never gotten along 100%.  And he almost agrees with her until he remembers his dream again.

“It’s a good thought, Thalia,” he says quietly. “But in my dream, you and Grover weren’t there. It was just me and Annabeth. I don’t think we’ll be able to change that, no matter who’s in charge.” He sighs deeply, plasters on a fake smile, and tries not to look as terrified as he is. “I’m the object of the prophecy, I think that much is obvious, and trying to change it will only it worse.”

Thalia looks down and Percy can see the stress working on her. That’s the thing about Thalia, in any other circumstance, she’s unshakable. She will charge head-first into a den of monsters with no trace of fear if that’s what’s required of her, but the moment another person’s life is in danger, she starts to fall apart. Percy would never say it out loud, but he thinks it might be a trauma left over from her last moments before Zeus turned her into a tree. She nearly died protecting her friends, spent years safeguarding the borders of Camp Half-Blood, her biggest fear in life is that she won’t be able to save everyone.

“So,” Percy says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and forcing his voice to be bright. “What beach are we thinking, team?”

“The nearest beach is Long Island Sound,” Grover says. “But that’s not south.”

“Then we’ll go to the other side of Long Island.” Percy shrugs. “Atlantic side. That’s south…south-er, anyway.”

“Makes sense to me,” Grover agrees.

Percy looks at Thalia, who is still fretting by the look on her face. “Thalia?” he asks. “What do you think?”

Finally, she glances up, her face half-hidden by locks of short, black hair. “Yeah, fine,” she says. “Sounds good.”

 

* * *

 

After leaving camp, Percy and the others follow the main road into town. It’s the middle of the night and they might have looked like a bunch of runaway teens or juvenile delinquents if it wasn’t for their matching, orange camp shirts. Getting to town without a car is a bit of a hike, but they make it in about an hour. They don’t even get attacked by any monsters, which is…frankly, _wow_.

            The town outside Camp Half-Blood is a little, one gas station and a rundown post-office kind of town. It’s sort of hard to believe that a place like this can exist in New York, and yet here it is.

            While the south end of Long Island might be the shortest distance they’ve ever traveled for a quest, they still can’t reasonably get there by foot—not if they want to reach Annabeth while she’s still a young woman—so, the first thing they need is a ride.

            “We could call the chariot of the damned,” Thalia suggests. “I have drachmas.”

            “No!” Percy says, maybe a little too strongly. He will never ride with those no-eyed witches ever again. “I mean, it would be easier to just get a bus or a cab.”

            Thalia shrugs and leans back against a bus stop with her arms crossed. “We’ll just wait here then, I guess.” She turns her face away like she’s mad, but Percy can’t tell if she is, or if she’s just worried about Annabeth. He sure is.

            He can’t stop hearing her voice from his dream…

            Why was she screaming?

 

* * *

 

They bus arrives about thirty minutes later, giving Percy and Grover time to pick up some real food from the gas station. Percy grabs bags of chips and beef jerky, 12 OZ bottles of coke, and some assorted sweet things (including a _blue_ berry donut, for himself.) Grover loads up on enchiladas from the rolling grill and iced coffees.

            Thalia stays behind to watch for the bus and she doesn’t look up when they return, but she’s sitting now and her back is hunched. It’s sometimes easy for Percy to forget how close she and Annabeth are. They attended the same school in New York, and before that—before Thalia was turned into a tree—she and Annabeth were best friends. They fought together. Now, Luke is gone so it’s basically the two of them. Plus Grover.

            And even though Percy is just at worried about Annabeth as Thalia is, it seems to be hitting her harder than he expected. His backpack heavy with food, Percy sits down beside her on the metal bench.

            “Hey,” he says, holding out a bag of beef jerky. “Hungry?”

            Thalia eyes the bag like it personally kidnapped Annabeth, but she takes it grudgingly and tears the top open. The smell of salt and beef seasoning fills the air inside the bus stop. “Thanks,” she says, popping a slice into her mouth.

            “No problem.” Percy bites into his donut as Grover studies the town map outside the store. It’s ridiculously small. “So, hey, um…” Percy glances at Thalia out of the corner of his eyes and, suddenly, Annabeth’s voice rises in his mind. Something she said a couple of years ago about Thalia, that she was so much like Percy that it was almost scary.

            _She would either be your best friend or your worst enemy._

Well, as much as they don’t always get along, Thalia certainly isn’t his worst enemy, so maybe he ought to try and be more of that first thing…

            “I know you’re worried about Annabeth,” he says quietly, picking glaze crumbs off the top of his donut. “I am, too. But don’t worry.” He looks up to find Thalia also staring intensely at her snack. “We’ll find her,” he says, maybe more confidently than he feels. “I promise.”

            Thalia is silent for several seconds. She sits, head down, fingers picking at the corners of her beef jerky bag. Then, just as Percy is about to give up and go talk to Grover, she says, “How can you be so sure?”

            He stops getting up.

            “I mean, yeah, you’ve had a few good quests. And so have I. But does that mean we’ll always succeed?”

            Percy frowns and sits back down. “What do you mean?”

            “Well, just—” she sighs and Percy can tell she isn’t even sure what she means. “It’s like, in all the stories about the great heroes. Hercules, Jason—” She glances sideways for an instant. “Perseus. Sure, they always manage to save the world and do all the big things, but they always, _always_ fail at saving their loved ones! I mean, _always!”_

She sighs and rakes a hand through her spiky hair. “Who’s to say we’re any different? What if we do all the saving the world stuff and then we fail on this one? The one quest that _really_ matters to us! What if we can’t save her?”

Percy stares at Thalia, speechless. He knew she was worried, but he had no idea she was _this_ freaked out. “We won’t,” he says, for lack of anything better to say. “We can’t. Like you said, this is the one quest that really, really matters. We won’t fail. Because this one is too important.”

Thalia rubs the back of her neck and sighs deeply. Percy can’t tell if she’s relaxing or just fretting more. Eventually, she says, “And what about the prophecy? It says one of us will perish.”

“Yeah, in the water.” Percy turns all the way to face her. He’s never seen Thalia so shaken up, but water is one thing he knows. This is the one thing he is _certain_ could never happen. “Perish must mean something other than die,” he assures her.

“How can you know?”

He smirks. “Because I’m a son of Poseidon. And I’ll be there right with you guys, watching your backs. I won’t let anyone drown or die anywhere near the water, I promise.”

“Hey, guys!” Grover calls just as the dark street floods with headlights. “The bus is here!”

Percy is about to get up when Thalia catches his wrist. He looks over to find her smiling a little sheepishly at her feet.

“Thanks for the pep talk,” she says quietly. “Sorry I was so freaked, but you’re right. We’re in this together. And we’ll watch each other’s backs.”

Percy smiles. “And we’ll get Annabeth back, I know it.”

She nods solemnly. “And make whoever or whatever took her pay, dearly.”

 

* * *

 

Thalia is fine after that, back to her same-old stern self. She manipulates the Mist on the bus to convince the driver that they already handed over their tickets, and they take their seats at the very back of the bus. A couple of other passengers file on and off, but for the most part, the three of them are the only people on.

            According to the schedule that Grover found on the map, this bus should reach nearly the other side of Long Island by three in the morning. As they pull away from the curb, Percy slides down in his seat and rests his head against the crusty leather. Might as well steal a few Zs. You never know what the quest will bring him tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

He dreams of Annabeth again.

            Only this time, she’s not a disembodied voice in the black palace of the minotaur, she’s in a jail cell. Not a modern one, the old-timey, medieval kind with block walls and iron chains hanging from the ceiling.

            Her blonde hair is flat to her face like she’s been wet recently, and her whole body shivers with the cold. Her wrists are bound in her lap with heavy, uncomfortable-looking handcuffs. But despite all that, her face is hard and her eyes are aflame with anger.

            She’s speaking to someone, but Percy can’t see who. “You’re wasting your time,” she says, her voice harsh but trembling. “Percy isn’t an idiot. He won’t come here.”

            Whoever she’s speaking to doesn’t reply. There’s a loud, metallic _clang_ like a dungeon door shutting and Annabeth’s cell plunges into darkness, but Percy can still see her. Her head droops to her chest like an unwatered flower, and his heart aches to see her stifle a sob.

            He wants nothing more than to rush forward and throw his arms around her. But what did she mean by _he won’t come here?_ She has to know there’s nowhere he wouldn’t go to get her back. Where wouldn’t he go?

            Suddenly, as if she can hear him thinking, Annabeth’s head snaps up. Her stormy, grey eyes pierce through the darkness and seem to stare right at him. For an instant, Percy wonders if he’s suddenly become visible to her, if he somehow stepped out of the dream and into her real world.

            Annabeth stares at him for another second before her mouth twists into a deep frown. “Who’s there?” she asks.

            Percy blinks. Can she actually sense him somehow? “Annabeth?” he asks, but his voice sounds ghostly, even to his own ears. He doesn’t have to wait another moment to know she can’t hear it.

            Surely enough, Annabeth doesn’t move, doesn’t react. She stares at him, but she can’t see or hear him. Maybe it’s Athena’s blood in her veins making her wise to being spied upon. Her eyes narrow and she sits up as much as she can with her chains. “I know you’re there,” she hisses.

            “Annabeth,” Percy tries again. He steps closer and she instantly reacts, pulling away, so he stops mid-step. “It’s me,” he insists. “It’s Percy!”

            She stares and stares, but he’s not getting through to her. After a minute, the tension in her shoulders shifts to something else. Expectation? “Mother?” she asks quietly, eyeing the empty space in front of her. “Mother, is that…you?”

            Percy nearly cringes. Of course, she wants her mother. Who doesn’t want their parents when they’re in trouble. But somehow, he highly doubts that Athena will be dropping in.

            Then, as if the same thought has just occurred to her, Annabeth’s eyes suddenly grow huge. She rolls onto her knees and her voice changes drastically, a little hopeful, and a little terrified. “Percy?” she whispers. “Oh, my gods. It’s you, isn’t it? You’re dreaming…of course, that makes sense…”

Her eyes flit away in thought for a second, then flash back to him. “Listen to me,” she insists and Percy finds himself leaning in. “Do not come after me!”

It’s a shock. Percy recoils. “What!” he shouts. “What do you—”

“It’s a trap, Percy! The people who took me, they want _you_. They know your friends are your weakness and that’s why they took me, so that you will come here willingly. They need that, I don’t know why. So please,” she practically begs. “Please, don’t come after me. And don’t send anybody else either. Not Thalia, or Clarisse, or _anyone_! These people, they’re—” She shakes her head, looking frightened. “I can get myself out, trust me.”

“Annabeth,” Percy whispers, even though he knows she can’t hear him. “I can’t just leave you here. I can’t just run away, I mean…we’ve faced traps before, right? We always make it out…” But even as he says it, he feels his confidence waning. This is _Annabeth_ telling him this. How can he not trust her?

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says softly and, gods, it’s like she’s looking right into his eyes. How is she able to do? It makes his heart flutter. “You’re thinking we’ve faced this sort of danger before.” The smallest ghost of a smile touches her lips. “You’ve probably got help. Grover, definitely. Probably Thalia came too. Maybe you even got an official quest and a prophecy, well trust _me,_ Percy. No one else this time.”

Annabeth’s smile fades and her eyes are dark and haunted. “They want to hurt you, Percy. Not just kill you. They want to hurt you first. I don’t know who they are, but if they get you…” Percy sees her swallow, like she’s fighting back tears. “They’ll destroy you first. Then, they’ll kill you.”

 _“Percy?”_ Grover’s voice. A hand clasps his shoulder, ice-cold, and he knows he’s about to wake up.

“Annabeth.” He drops to his knees in front of her and touches her hand. She gasps like she’s been electrocuted, but she holds his gaze. “We’ll…we’ll figure something, I promise. I’ll talk to the Thalia and Grover. No matter what, we’ll get you out.”

As he feels himself begin to fade—or awaken—Annabeth closes her eyes like she’s focusing on the feeling on his hand on hers. “Remember what I said, Percy,” she whispers. “But since you don’t listen to anyone, whatever you decide to do, just…be careful. Please, Seaweed Brain.”

 

* * *

 

He wakes up to Grover shaking him.

            “Percy! Wake up!” he hisses, obviously keeping his voice down for some reason. Thalia is nowhere to be seen.

            “What—” Grover clamps a hand over his mouth and puts a finger to his lips. When he takes his hand away, Percy lowers his voice. “What’s going on?” Only then does he notice that the bus is not moving.

            “Monsters!” Grover says, almost bleating in fear. “They attacked the bus! Thalia is out there fighting them now!”

            “Crap!” Percy stumbles to his feet and draws Riptide out of his pocket, popping the cap and watching the glowing-bronze sword extend. “What kind of monster?”

            “Leucrocotta!”

            Percy hesitates momentarily, staring at Grover with bugged out eyes. Leucrocotta, great. A monster he’s barely even heard of, let alone _fought_ before.

            Percy grips his sword a little tighter and charges off the bus into the night. He doesn’t see any monsters, but he can hear a fight happening in the woods. Thalia must have led them away to avoid hurting any passersby. Good thinking.

            Grover follows him, reed pipes in hand, and they rush into the thick knot of trees by the roadside.

            Like it or not, the quest has officially begun.


	4. The Team Almost Gets Eaten by Clifford The Big Red Dog's Bigger, Meaner Cousins

At first, Percy is horribly confused by the sounds in the woods. Grover said they’d been attacked by leucrocotta—monstrous wolf-dogs—but it sounds like Thalia is battling a small army of humans.

            There are shouts and screams and grunts, almost none of them Thalia’s (thankfully). Flashes of lightning burst like fireworks amid the shadows of the trees, and that’s how Percy finds the fight.

            Thalia is overwhelmed. There are six monsters surrounding her and, _yeesh,_ leucrocotta are ugly.

            Each creature is a little unique in its build and coloring, but generally…well, imagine a really big dog. Now, double the size of that dog and make it 100% less adorable. Now, make its fur tangled and matted with dirt and blood and also unhinge its jaw like a snake.

            There, now you have a decent image of a leucrocotta.

            Their spooky snake-jaws flap as their human-like voices shout and scream at Thalia, lunging and snapping at her every chance they get. Her arms are nipped and bruised, but between Aegis—her Gorgon-faced shield—and her lighting, she’s kept them at bay so far.

            Percy scans the woods. Unfortunately, he doesn’t sense any creeks or rivers flowing nearby. Looks like he’s fighting the old-fashioned way.

            “Hey!” he yells, grabbing the beasts’ attention. He levels Riptide at them. “A little birdie tells me you guys are after me! Well? Here I am! Come get me!”

            In the moment, it seems like a good idea. You know, get some of the heat off of Thalia. That is, until all six of the enormous wolf-dogs turn and flash their teeth at him.

            “Oh, great plan, Percy!” Grover moans. “Really, great.”

            “Just—shut up and run!”

            The leucrocotta charge. Only one of them stays with Thalia, but she should kill it soon. Hopefully.

            Percy ducks behind a tree as one of the monsters lunges to bite him in half. It collides with the tall oak so hard that half its leaves burst off like confetti.

            It lays there, stunned. Just long enough for Percy to slip around and jam Riptide deep into its huge chest.

            The leucrocotta explodes. So much dust fills the air that it’s like a smokescreen. Percy coughs and stumbles away, his eyes watering, lungs burning. That’s when the second wolf’s tail hits him like a mac truck.

            He slams into the ground ten feet away, so hard that his vision goes black for a second. Riptide slips out of his fist, and Thalia, who has just taken out her wolf, turns just in time.

            Just as the beasts get close to him, she shocks them, drawing two of them away. On the other side of him, Grover starts playing a sprightly tune on his reed pipes that makes the other three wolves shake their heads and stagger. It must be a confusion spell.

            Percy groans and rolls to his knees, gasping. His ribs ache like fire. At least one is broken, he’s sure.

            He grabs Riptide and tries to stand up, but it hurts to breathe.

            When he finally gets upright, Grover looks like he’s about to pass out. He hasn’t stopped to breathe since he started playing.

            Percy stumbles toward the nearest monster and slashes the tendon on its right back paw. It screams like a tortured man and whirls on him, but he puts his sword through its throat and it bursts like a punctured sandbag.

            That’s two wolves down…

            Four to go.

            The two that are attacking Thalia are starting to wear her down. Her lightning shocks are coming less frequently, and her shield arm is starting to shake with exhaustion. The two that are being dazed by Grover’s song are fine, but Grover can’t do this much longer.

            Percy takes a painful breath and closes his eyes, reaching out further with his mind. This is a _forest_ , for Zeus’s sake, there’s got to be water somewhere! And… _yes_! There!

            He spins in the direction of the creek and holds out his hand. His ribs throb with every beat of his heart and, just now, Grover had to finally stop to gulp down lungfuls of air.

            One of the leucrocotta charges him, but Grover must have dodged because Percy hears the monster’s head connect with a tree again. They might be huge and terrifying, but at least they’re klutzy in tight quarters.

            The other wolf is about to bite Percy in half when it senses something and freezes in its tracks. As do Thalia’s wolves. She takes advantage of their hesitation to kill one of them, but before she has a chance to take the other one out too, a wall of rushing water descends on the forest.

            It plows over Thalia’s other wolf, wiping it out with the force of a tsunami. Not even a drop gets on Thalia.

            The air-born river hits the other two wolves simultaneously, turning the water grey with dust-mud.

            “Yeah, Percy!” Grover cheers, pumping his fists in the air. “Yeah! You go, hero!”

            He abruptly stops cheering when Percy runs out of strength and the whole, dirty river falls over the three of them like a bucket of water.

            “Ah!” Thalia cries in outrage. “Jackson! You complete—ah!”

            Grover looks just as stunned, but at least he doesn’t start getting angry and causing the water to pop with electricity. “Ahhhh, calm down, Thalia!” he says, holding up his hands.   
“Before you fry us.”

            She calms after that, but her face is still screwed up angrily.

            Even that disappears, however, the moment Percy falters and has to sit down. Immediately, two pairs of footsteps come splashing toward him.

            “Percy?” Grover asks, his voice high and tight.

            “I’m—” He starts to say he’s fine, but before he can, his ribs stab with agony and he gasps, doubling over. He feels all the blood drain from his face as his stomach rebels. Suddenly, he’s really regretting that blueberry donut.

            Instantly, Thalia yanks off her backpack and pulls out a sandwich baggie filled with ambrosia squares. “Here,” she says, pressing one into Percy’s hand. “Eat this.”

            He would literally rather set himself on fire than eat right now, but he knows ambrosia will heal his injuries faster, so he forces it down. “Thanks,” he says, trying to feel the square’s healing effects, but they haven’t taken hold yet. Cuts and bruises heal quicker than broken bones, unfortunately.

            Grover helps Percy to his feet and supports his weight on the way back to the bus, where the driver and a handful of other passengers have wandered back and are staring around in confusion. Percy has no idea what the Mist made the wolves look like, but everyone is boarding again, so at least that much is going well. At least they’re not stranded out here in the woods.

            Once they’re back in their seats, Percy tells his friends about his dream, about seeing Annabeth and what she told him: that they should abandon the quest, that the people who took her mean to kill him…

            Deathly silence falls over all three of them.

            When Thalia finally speaks, he can tell she’s forcing herself to be calm and reasonable. “Percy, this whole thing is about you, the prophecy, the attacks, your dream… I know we can’t fight what the Oracle proclaimed, but…maybe just this once, we have to try.”

            To be honest, Percy has thought about it. He has always trusted Annabeth, always. If she thinks he should turn around and run back to camp, a big part of him wants to believe her. But the other part says no. He won’t abandon her.

            And yes, that is his fatal flaw talking.

            And yes, this is exactly what the bad guys are counting on.

            But here’s the thing: he doesn’t care.

            He has fought the God of War, he has been to the underworld and back, he has survived the sea of monsters, and he has held the weight of the world on his back. On pain of death or not, he will be _damned_ if he’s going to run away when Annabeth needs him.

            “No,” he says.

            Grover and Thalia stare at each other.

            Grover opens his mouth to protest, but Percy shuts him down.

            “No. I’m not running away,” he says, making it very clear that his mind is made up. “But I think you guys should.”

            “Excuse me?” Thalia demands.

            “This is what the prophecy said. ‘Only one shall reach the wise daughter.’ That’s got to be me. I think the Oracle was saying I need to do this alone.”

            “No!” Thalia says. “No way! What about ‘Three shall go south to seek their lost companion’? Why include that if you were meant to go alone?”

            “You’ve come this far with me,” Percy reasons. “Three of us have gone south, but I think I need to do the rest by myself.”

            “Percy, no way, we’re not leaving you! I mean, come on! We just almost died!” Thalia hisses, trying very hard to keep her voice down. “You’re hurt—”

            “And I’ll be healed soon.”

            “Annabeth would never forgive us if we abandoned you!”

            “Annabeth will never forgive me for ignoring what she said, but I’m taking that risk,” Percy mutters.

            “Um, excuse me,” says Grover, who has been quiet this whole time.

            Percy and Thalia frown at him. “What?”

            “We haven’t reached the witch of the waves yet.”

            “What?” Percy asks.

            “The, um, the witch of the waves from the prophecy. We haven’t found her yet. Prophecies always go in order. First, three go south to seek their lost companion. Then, the son of the sea taints divine blood. After that, we find the witch of the waves and only then does one person find the wise daughter.”

            Percy pinches the bridge of his nose. “What are you saying, Grover?”

            “It means we can’t leave until the prophecy says we can,” Thalia translates, harshly. “He’s right. If you’re so bent on not fighting the Oracle’s prediction, then we have to stay until the witch of the waves shows us the way.”

            Just then, the bus lurches back onto the road and they no longer have a choice. “Fine,” Percy relents, shifting in his seat to accommodate the throbbing of his ribs.

            The three of them sit in tense silence, Percy on one side, frowning out the window, Thalia on the other with her arms crossed, and Grover stuck in the middle.

 

* * *

 

The bus rolls to its last stop at exactly a quarter after two in the morning. Percy, Thalia, and Grover are the only three passengers left, so they step off and then the driver locks the bus and wanders off into the nearby bus station. It’s a cool, summer night full of chirping crickets and moths pinging off the street lamps.

            The Atlantic Ocean is about a mile away. Percy can smell the misty air and just breathing it in makes him feel stronger. Creeks and rivers are good in a pinch, but when you’re a son of Poseidon, the sea god, there’s nothing better than the ocean. That, coupled with the healing effect if the ambrosia, neutralizes the last of the pain in his ribs.

            “So,” he says, his mood brightening. “Beach party?”

 

* * *

 

If you haven’t tried, finding a deserted patch of beach is really hard to do, even at three in the morning. The whole stretch of coast by the Atlantic is crawling tents, bonfires, and drunk people. Percy can feel the bass of their huge stereos vibrating in the soles of his feet from a mile away.

            “Let’s check over there,” Grover suggests, pointing to a sheer cliff where waves lap gently against the sand. “Looks kind of dark and creepy. I doubt anyone is partying there.”

            Thalia hums, eyeing the secluded spot. “Maybe not partying, but…maybe something else.” If Percy didn’t know any better, he’d say her face has grown red. Still, they march across the sand to the cliff—much to their surprise—they find it empty.

            “See? I was right!” Grover says proudly. He puts his hands on his hips, looking immensely pleased. And Percy’s got to give it to him, not only is it quiet here, it’s also breathtakingly beautiful. The cliff overhangs this spot of beach, and where the waves reflect off the moon, the cliff face ripples with light and dark like an aquarium. The sand here is slicker than anywhere else, full of shells and seaweed, and crabs scuttle amongst the scraps of driftwood that have washed ashore. It feels like home in the strangest way Percy has ever experienced because his mother never had an aquarium. Then, he realizes he's not feeling homesick for New York, he’s feeling it for the bottom of ocean, the underwater palace he’s never been invited to…

            Thalia elbows him gently in the ribs to get his attention. “You okay?” she asks. “You look kind of sad.”

            “Oh.” Percy stuffs his hands in his pockets. “No, I’m fine. Come on.” He walks into the lapping waves. “Let’s get this done.”

            “Um, Percy?” Grover asks. “Do you even know what to do?”

            Percy shrugs lamely. “Not really.” With that, he kneels and places one hand in the water. His skin buzzes, energy shoots through him, and he feels like he could take on the world. “My name is Percy Jackson,” he says. “Son of Poseidon. I’m here to speak with the witch of the waves.”

            For a second, there’s just silence. Percy hears Thalia and Grover shifting their weight in the sand, he feels the water stirring through his fingers, tiny fish flocking toward him like dogs running to their master. Even the crabs crawl nearer.

            Then, the water in front of him turns luminous. It glows a hot, electric blue and he draws his hand out and backs up. The whole cave is glowing now, bioluminescence creeping through the seaweed and plant life like squid ink.

            The water stops flowing. It goes still like a pond. And then, it begins to lift up, forming a bubble which grows taller and wider and starts to take on a human-like shape. Percy’s hand instinctively touches his pocket, where Riptide is stored.

            The water begins to change color, taking of skin tones, greens, and blacks. When the witch of the waves is fully formed, she looks human, but also vaguely like a sea creature. Her skin is the color of a bleached coral reef, her long, black hair sticks to her skin as moisture runs off of her, and her green dress is shapeless and vanishes into the ocean. She has a mean, snakelike face, even when she smiles.

            “Percy Jackson,” she says sweetly. Her voice is deep and rich, like waves crashing against a stone. “I am Ilena, the witch of the waves. Tell me,” she purrs. “What can I do for the son of our dear king, Poseidon?”

            Something about her syrupy-sweet tone makes Percy think she’s not very fond of his dad. “My friends and I are searching for our friend, Annabeth. She’s been kidnapped. We were told you know how to find her.”

            An amused sparkle glints in the witch’s eyes. “Yes, the daughter of Athena. I know where she is.”

            “How?” Thalia demands, marching closer. “You haven’t done any magic! How can already know where she?”

            The witch cuts a scolding look Thalia’s way and, for an instant, Ilena’s face transforms into that of a black sea serpent and the ocean turns blood red. Thalia staggers backwards in shock. “Was I speaking to you?” Ilena roars.

            In the very next second, she’s transformed back into a human and is smiling at Percy. “To answer you very rude friend’s question, my prince, I happen to know where your friend is because her captors took her through my domain during their escape.”

            Percy balks. “Annabeth was…here?”

            “Oh, no, no, dear.” The witch tries to caress his cheek but he pulls away. “I am the witch of the waves. Wherever the open ocean touches land, I am there. Athena’s daughter was taken aboard a boat, and when they landed, I felt her presence.”

            “Where?” Percy insists. Suddenly, his heart is pounding.

            But now, the witch’s face turns sympathetic. “I’m sorry, son of Poseidon, but I cannot tell you that.”

            “What!” Percy says. “You have to!”

            “But I cannot,” Ilena says, with a hand on her heart, like this is so-very hard for her. Her fake kindness is sickening. “I am a witch and we have rules. If we wish to impart knowledge on a querent, we must first make a deal.”

            “What kind of deal?” Percy asks skeptically.

            Now, Ilena’s mouth curves up like a cartoon devil. “Come with me to my home, Percy Jackson. There, we can talk more candidly.” Her eyes cut to Thalia and Grover and her meaning is obvious. She won’t do business in front of a satyr and a daughter of Zeus. Sea-folk only.

            Before he can say anything, Percy’s friends each grab one of his wrists.

            “Percy, no!” Thalia says. “This is a bad idea.”

            “She’s right,” Grover says. “I am getting super-bad feelings off of her.”

            Percy turns to face them, lowering his voice so Ilena can’t hear. “I don’t trust her either,” he admits. “But what other option do we have? She’s the witch in the prophecy. The Oracle said that the witch of the waves would show the way to Annabeth.”

            Thalia and Grover look at the sand, grimacing. He’s right and they know it.

            “Besides,” he says, squeezing their hands. “Her home is underwater, the best place I can possibly be. I’ll be fine.” He smiles, but his friends don’t look convinced. Eventually, he turns back to face Ilena.

            “Okay,” he says to her. “Let’s go make a deal.”

            The witch grins and vanishes into the water. Percy follows her, turning to get one, last look at his friends before disappearing into the witch of the wave’s domain.


	5. It's Just Like That Scene From The Little Mermaid

The sea witch’s home is a cave several hundred feet below the surface. There is no life here. It’s like all the fish, and plants, and even sharks are afraid to get close. Which is just great. Very comforting.

All around the cave, the water churns like waves do on the surface. The currents are so strong that if Percy wasn’t a son of the sea god, it would be impossible to swim. He would drown.

            He follows the witch, who has transformed into a twenty-foot sea serpent for the trip. She leads him inside the cave and vanishes into the shadows. There’s a burst of light and when she reappears, she looks human again.

            Her luminance spreads to the few vines and kelps inside her cave, glowing like lanterns, but he doubts even these grew here. Ilena must have cut them and brought them back. They’re all braided and fastened to the walls of the cave by hand. The cave is decorated pretty much the way you would expect a witch’s cabin to be: all worn, cracked furniture and creepy things hanging from the ceilings. Including what looks like a fishing net stuffed with human skeletons.

            “Well now,” the witch says. Down here, she looks ghostly. Her hair and dress float around her like the bulbous head of a jellyfish. “Welcome to my home, my prince.”

            Percy narrows his eyes at her. “Why do you keep calling me that?” he asks, bubbles escaping from his mouth as he talks.

            “All who live in Poseidon’s kingdom revere him in the highest esteem,” Ilena says. “He is our king, and his children are like royalty.”

            “Ah.” Percy folds his arms. Somehow, he doubts that Ilena actually cares who his father is. There’s no doubt in Percy’s mind that she would kill him, given a chance. She just has that vibe, like a viper waiting to strike. “Okay, what do you want?” he demands. “You said we need to make a deal, let’s make a deal.”

            “Excellent idea, my prince. So, tell me.” Ilena sweeps closer, sitting on a crooked, wooden chair that looks like it hasn’t seen daylight since pirates were a thing. “How badly do you want to save your friend?”

            Percy sneers. “What is that supposed to mean? I would do anything to save Annabeth.”

            “Anything?”

            Percy knows right away that he should not have said that. Surely enough, Ilena clicks her tongue. When she gestures with her hand, another chair slides out from the shadows, hitting Percy in the backs of his knees, forcing him to sit in it.

            “ _Anything_ is a very strong word, son of Poseidon,” she says. “And words can be very powerful. You should be more careful.” She smiles and her sharp, snake-like teeth flash in the blue light. “So, carefully now, _what_ would you do to save your friend?”

            She’s trying to scare him, he realizes, to see what the son of a sea god is made of. A swell of defiance rises in Percy’s gut. He jumps to his feet. “ _Anything_ ,” he enunciates. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to save Annabeth.”

            Ilena sits back and smiles. “Well, that’s good,” she says and Percy is thrown for a loop. He didn’t expect her to look so pleased. “Because what you will need to do to reach her is not for the faint of heart, surely.” She floats off her chair and glides to the center of the cave, where a small, black cooking cauldron is resting on a pile of waterlogged driftwood.

            With a snap of her fingers, the soaked wood ignites in flames.

            “What do you mean?” Percy asks, venturing closer to the cauldron. The water around it is beginning to simmer and he can feel the heat on his skin. Vaguely, he wonders if a son of Poseidon can be boiled to death.

            “Your Annabeth has been taken to an island nearby,” Ilena says. “Her captors are few in number and, though I am certain they will be a challenge even for _your_ might, you will defeat them. I have Seen it.”

            Percy almost smiles. “Well, that’s…great,” he says. “How do I get there?”

            Ilena hums as she plucks mysterious things out of fishing nets on her ceiling. Bits of crab, human bones, and bundles of weird plants that are somehow dry despite being underwater. She throws them all into the cauldron and with every addition, the water near it gets hotter and hazier. “Before I tell you that, we must strike a deal. And I assure you, my prince, accepting is not only your best course of action, it is also the _only_ choice you have if you wish to reach your friend in time.”

            “In time?”

            The witch nods sadly. “I have Seen that too, in my spellwork. If you delay too long, Annabeth will succumb to her injuries and the cold. She will perish.”

            Percy shivers at the mention of that word: perish. “What do you want?”

            She throws one last item into the pot: a dehydrated fish carcass with a trident, the symbol of Poseidon, cut into its flesh. When that is added, the water in the whole cave begins to glow a sickly green. Percy’s head spins.

            “The island is warded against demigods,” Ilena says. “Should you manage to reach the island, you will not be able to enter. It is very much like the border that protects your Camp Half-Blood, only in reverse. Monsters and mortals may enter, but those blessed with divinity may not. If you wish to save your friend, I am afraid the only option you have is to relinquish your divinity. To become mortal.”

            Become mortal?

            And suddenly, it all makes sense. Mom’s panic, Poseidon’s concern, the prophecy… _The child of the sea shall taint divine blood._

            This is what the Oracle of Delphi meant. He’s going to taint his own divine blood…and become mortal to save Annabeth.

            “I know it is a difficult choice, my prince,” Ilena purrs, her voice dripping like honey. She drifts closer, stroking her clammy palm against his cheek. “But it is one you must make soon, for I fear the daughter of Athena does not have much time.”

            Percy stares at the floor of the cave.

            He hasn’t always known he was a demigod. For the first twelve years of his life, he assumed he was just like everyone else. Mortal. The thought of being like that again, like _mom,_ shouldn’t terrify him.

            But it does.

            He’s been on lots of quests, fought countless monsters, nearly died a hundred times…but all of that with the promise of relying on his strength: his superhuman resilience, his powers over water… All of that will be gone if he says yes.

            Only, how could he not say yes?

            He looks at Ilena, smiling at him with that fake sweetness, and he has the urge to stick her with his sword right now. But he stops himself. “This is your price, then?” he asks lowly. “That I become mortal? And the moment I do, you will tell me where this island is?”

            “Yes,” she says. “Witch’s honor.”

            As much as he doesn’t like the sound of that, Percy really has no other choice. He opens his mouth to agree, but then a bright, golden scroll appears before him, complete with a feather-tipped pen. At the very bottom is a line marked with a big X.

            “If you agree to my terms, Percy Jackson, sign your name.”

            He picks up the pen.

            And then a voice floats into his head, as if carried on the waves. He recognizes it immediately. Poseidon. _“No,”_ it says. _“Do not do this, Percy.”_

He hesitates.

            “You are welcome to see for yourself,” Ilena says, shrugging. “The island is not far to the south; I will even tell you that much. You can go there and see that it is warded, but I cannot guarantee you will have enough time to come back before your friend dies.”

            Percy squeezes his eyes shut and whispers, “I’m sorry, Dad.”

            He lifts the pen and scrawls out his name.

            The scroll explodes in hot, golden light and disappears. Ilena’s face grows evil as shadows creep across her. She dips a glass cup into her cauldron, filling it with a sickly, purple liquid.

            “Drink,” she tells Percy, pushing the cup into his hands.

            He doesn’t even question. The potion tastes like the ocean, like seawater and fish and sand. He swallows it all in two, big gulps and then hands Ilena the glass.

            “What a brave hero you are,” the witch says, but all the sweetness has gone from her voice. When Percy looks down at his arms, he realizes he’s glowing a ghostly light, and that’s when Ilena begins to chant.

            He can’t understand her, and he gets the feeling that this language is older than Ancient Greek. With every word, Percy gets dizzier and dizzier until can’t even stand upright. Ilena catches him by the arm, holding him up painfully.

            And then, she takes a big breath—or maybe a swallow—and _oh…_

The light surrounding his body disappears down her throat and he understands. The witch of the waves feeds on divinity. She’s like the vampire of the godly world, and he just fed her every ounce of god in him.

            Distantly, on the verge of unconsciousness, he wonders where that leaves him, trapped hundreds of feet below the surface and about to lose his ability to breathe underwater.

            As blackness claims him, he feels the witch’s hands on his shirt, and water rushing around him…

            And maybe Ilena isn’t as deceitful as he feared, because then his head breaks the surface of the water and hears Thalia and Grover’s voices.

            “Percy!” Thalia cries. “Oh, my gods!”

            He can’t open his eyes, he’s too weak. Waves lap at his face and when the sea water gets into his mouth, it chokes him and he has to spit it out.

            The water no longer makes him feel strong.

            Hands latch under his armpits and drag him to shore.

            Grover taps his cheeks. “Percy? Percy! Come on, buddy, wake up!”

            Off to the side, he hears Thalia praying to Zeus, begging her father to spare him. He must look even worse than he feels.

            “Come on, please…” Grover says, his voice breaking. “Come on…breathe, Percy.”

            “How is this possible!” Thalia shrieks. “How can he drown? He’s the son of Poseidon!”

            The last thing Percy thinks before finally succumbing to unconsciousness is, _if only they knew…_


	6. The Team Steals A Boat

When Percy wakes up, the first thing he feels is _cold._ He’s so cold. Shivering.

            The next thing is that the ground under him is incredibly soft. Not the ground, then. Bed. He’s in a bed, with a mountain of blankets draped over him and a cool rag on his forehead, which he wants off because _cold._

It smells like coffee and maple syrup so strongly that he can almost taste it, and voices murmur in the distance along with the clinking of dishes. There’s music too. Gentle, jazz music.

            Beds and restaurant things. It’s a weird combination.

            Percy peels his eyes open out of sheer curiosity, then immediately regrets that choice when the light stabs his corneas like tiny, red-hot swords.

His head is thumping and it feels like all the blood in his body has pooled in his temples.

It takes a moment for him to work up the courage to open his eyes again, but the experience isn’t at hateful this time. Slowly, the world comes into focus.

He’s in a hotel room by the looks of it. No, it’s too sweet to be a hotel room. Bed and breakfast, then. The floor is carpeted coral-pink, the walls are white and decorated with paintings of mermaids and framed clam shells. The bedspread smells fresh and the sheets are crisp as he turns on his side.

The blinding light is coming from a small, bedside lamp, which he instantly turns off.

His whole body aches like he’s been hit by a truck. His ribs, which were healed before, are sore again and throat is scratchy and irritated. Thankfully, some sweet angel left a bottle of water on his bedside table, which he cracks open and downs the whole thing to get rid of the sandy flavor on his tongue.

There’s no one else in the room with him. One bed. And for a single, terrifying second, he fears that Thalia and Grover have left him behind to finish the quest on their own.

The moment remembers the quest, he remembers what happened to him. It falls on him like a piano.

He’s mortal.

Percy lifts his hand as if he’ll be able to see a different, but it looks the same. He flexes his fingers and swings his legs off the side of the bed. He’s still shivering, so he wraps the thinner, top blanket around his shoulders like a cape and stands up.

His legs are wobbly and it feels like he’s standing on a boat, like the room is rising and falling, but one look out the window proves that it’s not. He wanders to the door and cracks it open, peering out.

Nothing but a quiet hallway. Still, he’s learned not to trust appearances, so he taps his pocket to make sure Riptide has appeared in his new clothes—which he just noticed—and then steps outside.

The hall is much like his room, pink carpet, white walls, ocean-themed décor. He stumbles in the direction of the voices and comes out into a small dining room, where a handful of wealthy-looking guests are eating brunch. The mahogany table is piled high with seafood, pancakes, donuts, muffins, sausage, etc. Everything and anything you could want at 10 o’clock in the morning. Behind the dining table is another one set with tea kettles, a coffee machine, and an array of creamers, milks, and sugars.

A middle-aged woman standing by the tea table sees Percy and her eyes brighten. “Oh, good morning, Mr. Jackson,” she says, sweeping over to him. She’s a pretty woman, he guesses. Tanned, with salt and pepper hair cut short like a grandma. She has a kind face and Percy instantly likes her.

“How are you feeling this morning?” the nice lady asks.

“Uh…” His throat is still raspy. “A little better, I guess…”

“Oh, good! You know, when your friends brought you here, I thought you needed a hospital, not a B and B!” She laughs. “But they were right. A little rest is all you needed. Now tell me, is there anything I can get for you? Soup? Some tea?”

“Uh, no. No,” he says, suddenly feeling dizzy again. “Where, um, where are my friends?”

“Oh.” The nice lady glances around the dining room, then taps her chin. “I’m not sure, sweetheart. They had breakfast early and I haven’t seen them since. You can use my phone to call them, if you like.” She gestures to a phone mounted on the wall behind her.

“Uh, no. That’s okay,” he says, taking a step back to breathe. The woman’s gentle face turns worried.

“Mr. Jackson, are you all right?” she asks, and now all the other tenants are staring. “You look pale. Maybe you should have a seat.”

“Yeah,” he says distantly, wobbling on his feet. “I think I’m going to go lay down…” He turns—a little too fast—and heads for his room. Once there, he cranks up the thermostat and stumbles into the bathroom, which thankfully has a window.

He yanks open the curtains to get some sunlight and then turns on the shower, mindless of how it sprays the floor, the walls, the mirror, everything. He needs a rainbow.

He finds his clothes in a plastic bag inside the tub because they’re still soaking wet. His backpack is in there too, so he grabs a few of his drachmas and tosses one into the rainbow. “Oh, goddess Iris, please accept my offering.”

He fears she won’t help him, now that he’s mortal, but his coin disappears and he heaves a sigh of relief. “Grover Underwood and Thalia Grace, uhh…I don’t know…Long Island. Somewhere.”

The image takes times to generate, probably because he didn’t know a location. But eventually, a rainbow-colored image of Grover and Thalia appears before him. They’re walking down a dark alley, talking in hushed voices.

“Guys,” Percy says and their heads snap up.

Grover looks so relieved he might cry. “Percy!” he gasps. “You’re awake! Oh man! You had us so scared!”

Percy smiles at that. “Sorry,” he says. “But, uh, where am I?”

Thalia butts in front of Grover. “Not far from the beach. It’s a little Bed and Breakfast called the Seaside Inn. Sorry we weren’t there when you woke up,” she adds, a little guilty.

“It’s all right,” he lies, even though waking up alone scared the crap out of him. “Where are you?”

Grover pushes back into the front. He holds up a bag marked PHARMACY. “You had a heck of a fever, man. We went out to a pawn shop to sell a couple drachmas so we could get some decent food and medicine.”

Percy is touched. They did all that for him? “Thanks, guys…”

And now Thalia is back. “We’ll be back in a few minutes. Then, we need to talk about what happened with the sea witch.”

Percy swallows. “Yeah,” he says, rubbing his arm. “We do.”

They don’t know, he realizes. They don’t know he’s mortal yet.

 

* * *

 

Percy is resting on the bed when his friends return.

            Grover rushes to his side, prodding him with medicine and a glass of water. “It will take your fever down,” he insists, so Percy gives in. Grover can be such a mom sometimes, but he’s grateful.

            Thalia is not quite so gentle, but even she sits beside him and feels his forehead. “Still pretty warm,” she mutters, mostly to herself. “How do you feel?”

            Percy shrugs. “Not great,” he admits. “But I’ll live.” Being mortal now, that feels like testing the Fates – which is the last thing he needs.

            Thalia nods. “So, what happened?”

            And now, he doesn’t know what to say, but Thalia and Grover are both looking at him expectantly, so he shifts in the bed and licks his lips. “Well…there was a price that had to be paid to get the information,” he says.

            “Okay,” his friends say, waiting for him to continue.

            So Percy explains, right from the beginning. He describes following the witch down into her spooky cave, what she said about Annabeth being taken to an island, that she could be badly hurt, and finally, about the island being warded against everything but monsters and mortals.

            “Oh, no,” Grover moans. “What are we gonna do?”

            “Well…” Percy swallows. “Actually, we don’t have to worry about the warding anymore.”

            Thalia eyes him suspiciously. “Why’s that?”

            “The price--” Percy says, “was my divinity.”

            Grover’s hands fly to his mouth in horror. Thalia stares at him like she trying to figure out if she heard him right.

“Oh, Percy,” Grover gasps. “You didn’t…”

            Percy just nods. “I had to.”

            Percy expects two things to happen next. He expects Grover to fly into a panic, and he expects Thalia to explode in anger. And even though Grover is most certainly _freaking out,_ Thalia remains unnaturally cool. She sits on the edge of the bed and stares at the floor, chewing her lip. Her brow is pinched in thought. Meanwhile, Grover is pacing the room with his hands in his hair, muttering, “ _He’s mortal! Oh, gods, he’s human! He’s so gonna die!”_

            Percy tries his best to ignore that. “Thalia?” he asks, nudging her.

            She looks at him like she’s just snapped out of a trance. “What?”

            “You’re being really quiet.”

            “Oh.” She rubs the back of her neck and shrugs. “Just…trying to think about how this will work, you being mortal, the quest…”

            “Ah.” Percy sits up a little straighter. “Are you…angry?” He’s almost afraid to ask. Kind of feels like encouraging her to shoot him with lightning or something.

            She hesitates. “No,” she says. When she sees Percy’s obvious surprise, Thalia straightens up a little and clears her throat. “Obviously, I think you’re an idiot for trusting that witch,” she corrects herself. “But…” Her eyes soften a little and she sighs. “An incredibly brave idiot. I don’t know if I would have been brave enough to do that,” she admits. “Annabeth is lucky to have a friend like you, Percy Jackson.”

            What can he say? He’s stunned. His face warms a bit and he smiles at his feet. “Thanks.”

            “Where is this island?” Thalia asks him, and for a split-second, Percy panics because the witch never told him that.

But then, he blurts out, “About 15 miles off the coast that way.” He points out the window, then twists his face in confusion. How did he know that? The only thing he can figure is the witch must have implanted the knowledge in his head magically.

At least she kept her end of the deal.

Thalia nods and stares in the direction Percy indicated, like if she looks hard enough, she’ll be able to see Annabeth out there somewhere. “We need a boat,” she says.

“What, are you insane!” Grover demands. He throws his hands in Percy’s direction. “We can’t continue on this quest! Not with Percy stuck as some pathetic mortal! Ah, no offense, Perse…”

Percy frowns and says, “Offense taken, actually.”

“What other choice do we have, Grover?” Thalia says. “You heard Percy, Annabeth could be hurt. We don’t have much time.”

“Yeah, and I want to do this,” Percy adds. At the horrified look on Grover’s face, Percy sighs and stands up. He still doesn’t feel 100%, but resting has helped a lot. “Grover,” he says, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know you’re worried, man, but this was my choice. I didn’t have to accept the witch’s terms, but I did. For Annabeth.”

At that, Grover’s resolve weakens. He too glances out the window at the rolling waves. Somewhere out there is his friend.

Sensing a shift in the mood, Thalia rises, drawing her sword and holding it into the air. “For Annabeth,” she agrees.

Percy smiles at her and draws Riptide, raising it as well. “For Annabeth.”

And now, Grover moans and buries his head in his hands. Finally, he picks up his reed pipe and holds it aloft. Weakly, he says, “For Annabeth.”

 

* * *

 

There are approximately four thousand boat-renting places in town. All they have to do is pick one. Thalia manipulates the Mist, convincing the seller that they’ve already paid, and he leads them to their new boat.

            It’s a sleek, white craft with a black stripe down its side. The cabin is big and so is the one below deck, complete with mini fridge, bathroom, two beds, and even a TV! It’s pretty much the coolest thing ever.

            Percy goes to the wheel on instinct, but the moment he starts playing around with all the buttons, and levers, and radios, he realizes he has _no_ idea what he’s doing. “Uh, I guess the whole ‘knowing how to work boats’ is gone with the rest of my powers,” he admits to Thalia, who is standing behind him looking very stern.

            “I guess we should have known that,” she says, moving to take his place. “Well, I haven’t done it in years but I took a few informal lessons with a friend of my mom’s a long time ago.” She puts her hands on the wheel and smiles nervously at the tossing water in front of them, stretching to the horizon. “Let’s see if I can remember.”

            Percy doesn’t feel much like laughing, but he makes himself anyway. “All right, well…” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of the new pants his friends bought for him. “Is there anything I can do? You know, to…help?”

            Thalia is very focused on her new task, so she just hums and waves him away. “Not really. I’m okay. Now, let me see, where’s the…”

            Percy sighs quietly and leaves the cabin, wandering onto the deck. He thinks that watching the ocean will calm his nerves, it always has. Leaning against the railing, he watches the sun glitter on the surface of the waves, the dark shapes deep below that must be schools of fish… It’s beautiful, sure, but it doesn’t relax him at all.

He goes away from the railing just as sick with nerves as before and goes below deck to find Grover. The satyr is stretched out on one of the beds, flipping through TV channels. He smiles when he sees Percy, and sits up.

“Hey,” Grover says, but his cheer seems false.

“Hey.” Percy sits down on the other bed, drumming his fingers on the soft comforter.

“I thought you would be upstairs helping Thalia navigate,” Grover comments.

Maybe Percy’s laugh is bitter, maybe it’s not. “Well, uh, I can’t…with my powers gone, I’m pretty useless on the sea.”

“Oh.”

Percy looks at Grover over his shoulder. Until now, he wasn’t too worried. These sorts of world-changing things just always seem to clean themselves up, but what if they don’t this time? Technically, there’s no reason they should. He signed over his divine blood by choice. He signed a contract. What if…what if he’s stuck as a mortal forever?

He would have to leave camp. Go home, live with Mom forever…and sure, that wouldn’t be too bad. He would never get chased by monsters again. He would have no more prophecies dumped on his shoulders. His life would get a lot easier, that’s for sure.

But what about his friends at Camp Half-Blood? Would he ever see them again?

He’s sure a few of them—Grover, Annabeth, Thalia—would visit him as much as possible, for a while. But their lives would be a part of a different world. They would go on fighting monsters and saving the world and he would be…normal. And right now, “normal” feels like a synonym for “trapped.”

“Oh, hey…” Grover says, sensing his friend’s distress. “Don’t worry, Percy. I mean, we’ll figure it out, right? There’s no way you’ll be stuck as a mortal forever.” He forces a smile. “Once we figure out this whole mess with Annabeth, we’ll focus on finding a way to get your divinity back.”

Percy nods at the floor just as the boat’s engines chug to life and they start to move. “Yeah,” he says dully.

“I’m serious!” Grover gets up and flops down beside Percy, shoving him playfully. “You just have to trust me on this one, Percy. We won’t let you down.”

Even though Percy isn’t in a very cheerful mood at the moment, he says, “I know. Thanks, Grover.”

They hug it out and then Grover grabs the TV remote and suggests watching something to take their mind off their troubles. Percy lets him pick so they end up with some kind of nature documentary. Grover cheers for the intrepid, little plants growing in the harsh desert and weeps when the video cuts to human machines chopping down rows of trees.

Percy barely pays attention, but for a while, it’s nice to sit with Grover and pretend things are okay. His only comfort is knowing that, with every passing minute, they’re getting closer and closer to Annabeth…

He doesn’t know if there was another way to reach her, but once they have Annabeth back, one thing is for sure: no matter how it turns out with his divinity, it will have been worth it once she’s safe.


	7. Percy Walks Through Walls

The island is surrounded by a heavy Mist, which explains why no mortal has ever noticed it. From a distance, it just looks like a craggy, rocky hazard – to be avoided at all costs. As the team gets closer, however, its true features begin to reveal themselves, even to Percy.

            “Oh, yeah,” he says, eyeing its knife-like mountains spearing the clouds. “That place doesn’t look dangerous at all.”

            “Yep,” Thalia agrees with a sigh. “Super pleasant.”

            Even with the Mist cleared, there are still spires of rock jutting out of the thrashing waves. Thalia keeps both of her hands on the wheel and she still has trouble steering between them. “Hang onto something!” she yells as the side of their boat scrapes against an underwater formation that hadn’t appeared on the radar.

            Water sprays over the deck. Grover slips three times and almost goes overboard once, but Percy grabs him by his shirt and yanks him back over the railing.

            Finally, Thalia manages to steer the vessel into a shallow bay of sorts, filled with relatively calm, turquoise waters. It’s so clear that Percy can see all the kelp, crashed ships, and schools of fish at the bottom. The fish scatter as an enormous Great White drifts by.

            Percy shivers and looks away.

            They get as close to shore as possible, but still need to wade waist-deep the tides to get to land. While Grover and Thalia tie the boat down, Percy eyes the impossibly high mountains, whose tops he can’t make out through the clouds.

            Closer to the shore, the island looks like one you might see on a ship-wreck movie. The beach is long and curved, its white sand unpolluted by footprints or trash. Sea turtles drag themselves out of the waves and exotic, brightly colored birds flap in the palm trees. All of this ends abruptly in a dense forest, dripping with vines and dark shadows.

            Annabeth is here somewhere, he can feel it.

            “All right,” Thalia says, appearing beside him. She wipes the sweat from her brow and squints into the dark woods. “What’s the game plan?”

            “Umm…Grover?” Percy says. “Any chance you can play us a tracking spell?”

            The satyr glances around nervously, like he’s expecting some great goat-eating monster to charge out of the woods at any moment. “Sure…” he says anxiously. “I’ll…try.” He lifts his reed pipe to his mouth and plays a short tune, fishing a bunch of acorns out of his backpack and tossing them into the sand.

            The acorns shuffle around, rearranging themselves into a strange pattern, and Grover hums as one nut slides far away from the rest, coming to a stop nearly three feet down the beach.

            “Is that Annabeth?” Percy asks, watching the lone acorn. It looks so sad way off by itself.

            “Yes.” Grover rubs his stubbly chin. “The witch was right. Annabeth is here, but she’s not close.”

            Thalia sighs dejectedly at the setback. “How far?” she wants to know.

            Grover studies the acorns. “About fifteen miles,” he says. “That way.” His finger points straight-ahead, right through the black forest. Its dense shadows scream with the buzzing of insects and the chatter of thousands upon thousands of wild animals.

            “Great,” Percy says, trying to ignore the knowledge that if he gets hurt in there, no amount of nectar or ambrosia will heal him. He’ll be stuck.

            As if his friends hear his thoughts, they move in close to him as they edge toward the forest. Thalia draws her sword and Grover walks a step ahead of him, as if trying to put himself between Percy and the danger.

            Obviously, he’s touched that they’re worried, but come on. “Geez. Relax, guys,” Percy says. “I’m human, not glass.”

            “Same, difference,” Grover mutters, not backing down. His eyes dart around wildly and, vaguely, Percy wonders if he’s speaking to the animals in his mind. Telling them to back off or so help him!

            “He’s right, Percy,” Thalia says. “There’s no harm in being cautious.”

            “Now you sound like Annabeth.”

            Thalia nods, staring straight ahead. “Nothing wrong with that.”

            “Yeah,” he agrees.

 

* * *

 

The island is hot and humid. Pretty soon, Percy’s hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat and his clothes are clinging to him. Mosquitoes buzz like saw blades in his ears and no matter how often he swats them away, they come back in force. Less than two miles into their hike, he’s covered in itchy, red bumps.

            The insects don’t seem interested in anyone but him though. Thalia and Grover don’t even appear to notice them. Guess mosquitoes don’t like god-blood. Or goat-blood.

            They find a freshwater stream a few minutes later and stop to get a drink (once Grover plays a purification song, of course). It tastes so good it’s almost like drinking nectar. Percy hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until now. He gulps down mouthfuls while Grover checks his tracking spell to see how far they’ve gone.

            “Hmm,” he says, staring at the fleeting bits of sky he can see through the palm leaves.

            “What?” Thalia asks, wiping her mouth. Still, a bit of water trickles down her chin.

            “At this rate, we’ll be traveling in the dark.”

            Thalia frowns but doesn’t look too concerned. “We’re not camping here,” she says. “It’s only thirteen more miles.”

            “Which would be doable for _us_ , except…” His eyes flash to Percy so briefly that he almost doesn’t catch it.

            “No, hang on.” Percy sits up, frowning at the two of them. “We’re not stopping just because of me. I’ll be fine.”

            “Percy…” Thalia says carefully. “Thirteen miles without a break is a challenge, even for a half-blood. A mortal couldn’t—”

            “I can,” he interrupts.

            She looks at Grover for help. “Percy—” she tries again.

            “No.” He stands up, spitefully ignoring the aching exhaustion in his legs. Hiking two miles through the dense forest is a lot different from walking two miles in New York City, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll make it. They’re not taking any longer than they need to, especially not for him. “I said I’ll be okay.” Just to prove his point, he turns and stomps away so they’re forced to follow him. And he uncaps Riptide so they won’t crowd him.

            This is his quest, dammit. Annabeth needs him, and he’s going to see this through, even if it kills him.

 

* * *

 

Five miles later, still walking.

            Percy feels like death. His legs weigh three hundred pounds each. His tailbone is stiff and sore as if he had fallen, but he hasn’t. Remarkably.

            His skin is blistered with sunburn and insect bites, and his mouth is cotton-dry.

            His only solace is that he isn’t the only one having a hard time.

            “Ughhhh,” Grover moans. “Are we there yet?”

            “How should we know?” Thalia grumbles. “You’re the one with the tracking spell.”

            “Hey, yeah,” Grover says, panting. “Let’s stop and check that. Let’s stop. Please?”

            Percy would never admit it out loud, but he loves that idea. Stopping sounds like Elysium right now.

            They park themselves in a small clearing and collapse to the forest floor. Even Thalia is sweating and breathing heavily now. Her face is pink and a little chapped and she’s knotted her dark hair into a small bun on top of her head to protect her scalp from burning. Percy wonders how Grover hasn’t overheated from all that goat fur on his lower half.

            “Percy, here,” Thalia says, passing him their canteen that they filled at the last river.

            “Thanks.” He wants to drink the whole thing, but he takes one, generous swallow and hands it back. Thalia hands it to Grover while he works on his spell and then drinks a bit herself. She tries giving it back to Percy again, but he refuses. Better save it.

            If he had his powers, he could sense the nearest body of water and guide them to it to refill, but without them, well…there’s no guarantee they’ll find anything else.

            Just then, Grover exclaims a dejected moan.

            “What?” Percy asks, lifting his head off the ground. When he does, his vision does a little spin and he sees stars. What does heat exhaustion feel like, he wonders?

            “We’ve only traveled seven miles total,” Grover says. “It felt like more.”

            “So, we still have—”

            “Eight miles to go,” Thalia says, flopping backwards into the grass. “We’re not even halfway there.”

            Percy groans and covers his eyes with his arms, shielding them from the glaring sun. He feels like shouting, _Apollo, back off!_ But somehow, he thinks that will probably just make it worse.

            Still, seven miles in three hours is pretty okay considering the density of this forest. And they haven’t even been attacked by anything horrible yet, so that’s good.

            As if on cue, there’s a loud rustling somewhere off in the forest. Percy shoots upright, his hand flying to Riptide. “What was that?”

            Thalia, who is still laying on her back, gives him a weird look. “I don’t know,” she mutters. “Probably a monkey or something.”

            But Percy has a bad feeling. Like eyes are drilling into the back of his neck. He stands. “Grover?” he asks. “Do you smell monsters?”

            Grover sniffs. “No,” he says. “Just nature. Why?”

            Percy turns slowly, ignoring the strange looks his friends are giving him. They’re probably thinking that the heat has driven him to the brink of a mental breakdown. Maybe they’re not wrong, but he definitely feels something. A primal kind of fear like he’s a caveman sensing a sabretooth tiger.

            Speaking of tigers, that’s when he hears the distinctive, rumbling growl.

            A pair of piercing, yellow eyes are watching them from the bushes.

            Finally, Thalia and Grover jump to action, but they look rattled. “Where in Hades did that come from!” Thalia gasps, ripping her sword from its sheath. “Why didn’t we sense it?”

            “It’s a normal animal,” Grover explains. “Normally they don’t bother with half-bloods because they’re too difficult to kill, so we don’t sense them. But they love goats…and they aren’t scared of humans…I think it’s testing our limits.”

            Thalia huffs indignantly. “It thinks one half-blood isn’t enough to kill it?”

            “I think what Grover means,” Percy says, careful not to take his eyes off the prowling cat. “Is that it’s weighing two easy meals versus the danger of one tough one.”

            “I think it’s starving,” Grover says, a bit sadly. “That’s the only reason it would risk attacking us.”

            “We don’t have to kill it,” I remind them. “Thalia, use Aegis. Scare it off.”

            “Good idea,” she says. But as Thalia, the only half-blood among them, bends to pick up her Gorgon-faced shield, the tiger takes its chance to pounce.

            It’s 600-pounds of orange-striped muscle and razor claws flying at them at the speed of light. Percy screams, he’s not too proud to admit that. But so do Thalia and Grover.

            They throw themselves to the dirt.

The tiger’s claws barely rake across Percy’s shirt.

            Mortal or not, his training is still in him, thankfully. If it wasn’t he’d be dead.

            As Percy scrambles to get back to his feet, heart slamming in his ears, Thalia jumps on top of him. He doesn’t understand why until he realizes that she’s holding Aegis now, and the tiger roars in terror.

            It darts back into the brush and is gone in a flash.

            “Holy…” Grover breathes. Percy finds him sprawled on his back a few feet away, completely grey. “We almost died.”

            “Yeah, what else is new?” Percy says. As Thalia stands up, he winces. The front of his camp shirt is ripped and three, shallow cuts have opened on his stomach from the tiger’s claws. They’re nothing, barely more than paper cuts, but as sweat and insects get into them, they start to burn.

            Thalia notices his injury almost as quickly as he does. It’s obvious they aren’t serious, but now that he’s mortal, she squints and tries to figure out how much worse they are than they seem. It’s like she’s doing math in her head. Nothing-scratch for demigod to the power of five because mortal equals…

            “I’m all right,” he assures her before she can ask. He stands up and shrugs off his backpack. Thankfully, he thought to pack a spare shirt. That won’t stop sweat from stinging his cuts, but it will keep them clean and bug-free.

            “We should keep moving,” Grover says, watching the sky. “It will be getting dark soon and we have eight more miles to go.”

            “Yeah,” Percy agrees, even though the idea of walking eight more steps sounds torturous, let alone eight miles.

            So Grover goes ahead of them as Percy tugs on his new shirt. It’s dry and smells clean, like detergent. Much better than sweat. Just as he’s about to start after him, Thalia grabs his elbow.

            “How did you know the tiger was there?” she asks.

            He pauses. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I just felt like we were being watched.”

            “By a mortal creature,” she realizes. “You’re mortal now, so your senses are more attuned to the mortal world. Interesting.”

            “If you say so.”

            “Just let us know if you feel that again, okay? I promise I won’t poo-poo it next time.” She smiles for the first time all day and Percy nods.

            “Oh, trust me,” he says. “I will.”

 

* * *

 

By the time night falls over the island, they’ve been walking for a grand total of five hours, nearly nonstop. All uphill. In the searing heat.

The only thing that saves them is water. Whenever they find a pool, a stream, a creek, even a puddle, they practically dive into it, rolling in the refreshing coolness, drinking as much as they can without vomiting.

Percy is so burned it hurts to move. For the last three miles, his head has been pounding so hard he can barely hear. He only continues to walk by sheer muscle memory and nothing else. It’s like his brain has logged off. His body is just a burned, numb, mindless walking machine.

Talking ceased four miles ago.

But the night is a welcome visitor. Percy almost cries in relief to feel the temperature dropping, Apollo’s cruel chariot dropping away. Artemis looks like the most beautiful creature in the whole universe right now and Percy swears to burn an extra offering for her for a month once he gets home.

But then the fort rises into view, like some grim Italian castle.

Its white stone is washed out and grey in the darkness, red flags flapping listlessly in the chilly breeze. Its grand staircase and walls are overgrown with knotted vegetation, as if it’s been without a decent gardener for thousands of years.

“That’s it,” Grover whispers. “Annabeth is inside there.”

“Any monsters?” Percy asks, squinting through the darkness. He can’t tell if the moving shapes he’s seeing are real or a trick of the shadows.

Grover gulps. “Lots.”

Real, then. Great.

Thalia hands Grover a bottle of nectar and some ambrosia, bypassing Percy altogether, for obvious reasons. “Percy,” she says. “When we get in there, stay close. No going off on your own and I mean that.” Her eyes cut to him and he flashes back to a couple of years ago, when his wandering off at Bianca and Nico’s military school nearly cost all of them their lives.

“Right,” he says.

He waits while they recharge and tries not to feel the weight of his own hurt and exhaustion too much, even though he feels like he could sleep for a year. When he gets home, he’ll probably need to spend some time in the infirmary…

And then it’s time to move.

Thalia goes first, armed with her sword and Aegis, followed by Percy who has Riptide uncapped and ready, and Grover pulling up the rear, watching their backs.

The castle is down inside a bowl of a valley, the walls of which are steep and rocky. They have to slide on their butts, grasping roots and rocks to keep from plummeting all the way down. Still, it’s an immensely uncomfortable ride to the bottom.

By the time they reach solid ground, all three of them are bruised and scraped and hurting. But they push on.

 _For Annabeth,_ Percy thinks.

Now that they’re closer, the twisting shadows are a lot clearer, and Grover was right. They’re monsters, of all shapes and sizes. Percy’s skin prickles and he has to struggle not to be tricked by the Mist. _They’re monsters,_ he reminds himself. _Focus._

They’re just about to sneak around behind the grand staircase when Thalia slams into something invisible. It throws her back and she lands hard, her breath blowing out of her.

“Thalia!” Percy whispers. “Are you all right?”

“What was that!” she demands, rubbing her chest. “Felt like I got kicked by a bronze bull.”

Grover steps closer to what kicked her and puts out his hand. Sparks jump off his fingertips and he recoils, eyes huge. “It’s a ward,” he says. “The whole castle has been warded against us.”

“The witch was right,” Percy marvels. Experimentally, he sticks out his hand but feels no resistance. He steps closer and goes right through the invisible wall holding his friends back. He laughs quietly, marveling at his fortune. He almost can’t believe the witch wasn’t lying. At least he didn’t sign away his powers for nothing.

“Maybe this isn’t a good time to be _laughing_ , Percy!” Thalia protests. “This means you have to go in alone!”

“Well, yeah, but we knew that,” he says. “None of this is a surprise.”

“Well, _yeah_! But…”

“Listen, guys,” he says, stepping back across the ward line. “I know you’re worried, but I’ll be fine.” His friends still don’t look convinced. “Monsters smell half-bloods, right? Because we—you smell different than mortals.”

Thalia and Grover nod.

“Then they won’t even smell me! All I have to do is stay out of their line of sight, find Annabeth, and get her out.”

Grover throws his arms around Percy. “Just be careful,” he pleads, crushing him.

Much to Percy’s surprise, Thalia joins in. “Watch yourself in there,” she says. “And bring Annabeth out safe.”

“I will.”

            His friends release him from their crushing embrace and Percy turns and walks through the warding into the castle grounds. He keeps Riptide sheathed so the light of its celestial bronze won’t draw attention, and creeps toward the staircase, alone.

            When he looks back, Thalia and Grover are gone, off to who-knows-where, probably searching for weak spots in the magical warding. They won’t find any though. The prophecy said only one would reach Annabeth—him—and then…

            _And that one shall perish in the water._


	8. Sha La La La La La Percy Kisses The Girl

The monsters guarding the doors are some of the ugliest he’s ever seen. They must be zombies of some kind, and each has a leucrocotta standing hear. Just seeing their giant trails swishing in the air makes Percy’s stomach twist. One of them nearly killed him when he was a half-blood. He won’t stand a chance as a human.

            Thankfully, they haven’t seen him. And now that he’s mortal, his scent will be nearly undetectable to their noses. So, Percy checks Riptide one more time, and ducks around the side of the grand staircase, keeping low until he reaches his destination: a dried-up old well with a round, wooden cover.

            Like everything else in the courtyard, it’s overgrown with vegetation but he thinks if he’s careful, he can cut it away without being noticed. According to Grover’s nature spells, there’s a short tunnel leading from the well into a cellar under the castle. Who knows why. Maybe, in the olden days, it was used as an escape tunnel.

            Now, it’s his entrance tunnel.

            Percy kneels beside the well and takes out his sword. He glances back toward the woods, but Thalia and Grover are nowhere to be seen. Still, he knows they’re there, watching his back in case anything goes wrong.

            He uncaps Riptide and silently curses its bronze glow that pierces the darkness like, well, like a sword, and tries to hide it behind his body while he makes his first cuttings. Vines and knotted plants drop away, revealing rotten wood and rusty hinges. Even if he manages to clear enough of this stuff away to open the lid, it’s still going to make a lot of noise.

            Once he’s got a window through the overgrowth, Percy takes one last, fleeting glance around the dark courtyard – and _CRACK -_ jams Riptide’s blade under the rotted well cover.

            The noise reverberates through the island like a fog horn.

            His heart stops as a hundred monster heads swivel in his direction.

            _Oh, crap,_ he thinks. _Gotta go!_

            Percy pulls up on Riptide with all his might, but either the lid is rusted completely shut, or being mortal has made him weaker than he thought, because it lays stubbornly closed.

            He yanks harder. No luck.

            Percy pulls his sword free and spins around. The ground under his feet shakes with the combined weight of all the sprinting baddies. There must be a hundred of them…

Percy grimaces, bouncing on his heels.

            Fight or flight time.

            Problem is, even if he was a demigod, he wouldn’t be able to fight all of them. Maybe the first dozen, if he was lucky. But as a mortal?

            Except, the other problem is: even if he runs, the monsters will just chase him. His only option is to get inside the castle without them seeing him.

            “Percy!” Thalia is yelling. “What are you doing! Get out of there!”

            But he ignores her. Turning away from the charging monsters, who are still clamoring to get down the overgrown grand staircase in the dark, Percy takes the risk. He jams Riptide back under the lip of the well cover as far as he can get it for extra leverage, leaning into the grip with all his body weight.

            Once the blade is in up to the cross-guard, Percy legs go. The monsters have started jumping over the side of the high courtyard wall. They’ll be on him any second now.

            Heart thumping, he rubs his hands together, then grabs his sword and pushes up with all his strength.

            It’s like trying to lift the sky again.

            His blood rushes to his face, acid builds up in his muscles, and the cover cracks.

            “Come on…” he says between gritted teeth.

            “PERCY!” Grover yells.

            Just as the first monster gets within arm’s reach, a big section of the well cover snaps off. The abrupt lack of resistance against his sword throws Percy forward, but he grabs the edge of the well and vaults over, falling into darkness, feeling a claw graze against his shoe.

 

* * *

 

There’s a few feet of putrid water at the bottom of the well. Below that, mushy sand and kelp.

            As disgusting as that is, those things probably saved his life.

            Percy lands hard, breaking his fall on the pads of his arms the way you’re supposed to, but it still hurts like…well, like a lot.

            Once he’s gotten enough of his sense back to lift his head out of the scummy water, he groans and rolls onto his back.

            Far above him, framed against the relative light of the night sky, are dozens of jarring, pushing, shoving monster heads. All of them trying to climb into the well after him, all of them too excited and bloodthirsty to think through a plan.

            Thankfully.

            He braces his throbbing arms in the slime-like sand and sits up. Riptide, which as reduced back to its pen-form, is safely back in his pocket. His knees, shins, elbows, forearms, and chin are scuffed and bloody. His clothes are absolutely drenched and smell oddly sour from the rotten things in the well.

            Resisting the urge to retch, Percy struggles to his feet and hurries as fast as his bruised body can take him into the cut-stone passageway in front of him.

            It stretches a long way into utter blackness. Percy gets his flashlight out of his backpack and shines it around the arched tunnel. The floor, which is slick with mud and gravel, is covered in two feet of water. The block walls drip with mold and moisture, and it’s just an all-around pretty unpleasant place to be in.

            Still, he trudges on. It’s all he can do.

           

* * *

 

About a hundred feet in slimy, smelly darkness, the tunnel ends in an old-timey oak door with a big, brass knocker capturing the likeness of Percy’s old friend: the Minotaur. Seeing that, he remembers his dream and suddenly, he’s glad he brought that horn. If it comes down to a fight, he’ll need every magical advantage he can get if he’s going to survive.

            Quietly, Percy presses his ear against the door and listens. He doesn’t hear anything, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Monsters can be incredibly stealthy.

            Balancing Riptide in one hand, Percy carefully pushes the door open and peers at the other side. And guess what? More darkness.

            Then again, what does he expect from a big monster castle in the middle of the jungle?

            He closes the door softly behind him and edges blindly into the new room, too nervous about being seen to use his light. Instead, he keeps one hand on the wall and guides himself that way, moving around one corner, then another. Finally, his fingers graze from stone to wood again. New door.

            On the other side of this one, he hears a noise. A kind of shuffling, like hooves.

            His heart jumps.

            This isn’t like his dream yet. When he fought the Minotaur in his dream, he was in a nice, big, open castle chamber with braziers on the walls. A room like that could never be in a basement like this.

            But does that mean he’s supposed to turn around? Or should he test his luck and go in now?

            _Percy?_ Grover’s voice in his head almost makes him scream. _What’s going on? I’m sensing a lot of fear through our empathy link right now. Are you okay?_

 _Just now?_ Percy asks. _You’re just now noticing I’m terrified?_

 _No,_ Grover says flatly. _But you just got a lot more scared. Are you safe?_

Percy listens to the shuffling and bull-like grunting on the other side of the wall. _Define safe._

_Well—have you found Annabeth yet?_

_Not yet._ Percy chews his lip. Turning around isn’t realistic, he decides. It’s just too dark and he doesn’t dare use a flashlight, nor draw Riptide for fear of monsters sensing the celestial bronze. _Listen,_ he tells Grover. _I’m about to do something a little crazy._

 _Percy…_ Grover warns him.

            _I think it’s the only way to get to Annabeth, so I have to try. But I need radio silence, okay? No distractions._

Grover is silent for a moment. _Okay,_ he says. _Be careful, Percy. We’re praying for you._

 _Thanks, guys._ With that, Percy takes a breath and opens the door…

            Hot, damp air blasts him in the face, as if this room hasn’t been opened in a thousand years. The chamber smells sharp, like dirt and metal. A huge, iron brazier burns in the center of the room, but the fire is down to embers, casting an eerie, orange light across the dungeon.

            There are probably thirty cells in total, all very small and barren. Most are empty except for a few. The nearest one, directly to Percy’s right contains the grunting, shuffling thing he mistook for the Minotaur. It’s a centaur.

            And, oh, he looks sickly.

            The centaur’s face—which is not very old at all—is gaunt and grey. His horse lower body is withered to the ribs, knees bony and shaking. His prisoner’s shirt is shredded and moth-eaten.

            Righteous anger and defiance swell in Percy’s gut. Sure, the centaurs a little…wild and unreliable, but this is Chiron’s cousin! He draws Riptide and slashes off the thick padlock on the centaur’s cage, opening the door.

            “You’re free,” Percy tells him. “Escape while you can.”

            The centaur regards him blankly. He doesn’t even try to stand.

            Percy frowns. “Didn’t you hear me?” he says, a little louder. “Run!”

            The flickering embers of the fire make the centaur’s face look long, and draw out the shadows under his eyes. “There’s no point,” he says. His voice is thick and rough, as if he hasn’t spoken in a decade. “This castle is surrounded by monsters.”

            “Then come with me,” Percy insists. “I’m here to save my friend. Once we get her out, we can protect you and we’ll all escape!”

            The centaur narrows his eyes. “Who is your friend?”

            “Annabeth Chase,” Percy says. “Daughter of Athena.”

            “Is she the girl they brought in a few days ago? Blonde hair? Loud-mouth?”

            Percy almost smiles. “Yeah, that’d be her.”

            The centaur nods, staring at the stone floor of his prison cell. “Then you must be Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon.”

            “You’ve heard of me?”

            “Everyone in this castle has heard of you, half-blood. Or, former half-blood, I suppose,” he says, sniffing the air. “The master of this place wants you dead. Everything he has done is to bring you down.”

            “But why?” Percy asks. “Who is this guy?”

            “His name is Zalliss.”

            “Zalliss,” Percy repeats, committing the name of his enemy to memory. “But who is he? Is he a monster? A creature? A…a half-blood?”

            But the centaur shakes his head. “No, Percy Jackson, I am afraid he is much worse than that. Zalliss’s mother is Eris, goddess of chaos, and his father…” The centaur almost shivers. “His father is Deimos, god of fear.”

            Percy has never heard of Deimos before, maybe because names hold power and everyone is too scared to speak of him. Just the mention of his name turns Percy’s blood to ice. “So, Zalliss is…a god?”

            The centaur nods, almost sadly. “A very new one. Eris and Deimos never spoke of their union to anyone and so their child was born in secrecy. Very few of the Olympians know he exists: your father, Eris’s brother Ares, perhaps Zeus…”

            Percy shivers. “So, how do you know?”

            The centaur sighs and makes a movement that might have been a shrug. It’s weird seeing another centaur as calm and collected as Chiron. Or maybe it’s just the imprisonment. “I have been trapped here for many years, Percy Jackson. I have heard many things.”

            “Then come with me,” Percy insists again. “Annabeth and I can get you out.”

            “I cannot.”

            “Why?” Percy demands. “If you’re too weak to walk, I can put together a sled. We can pull you out.” Somehow.

            The centaur smiles and shakes his head. “You are a good man, Percy Jackson,” he says. “But no, it is not my destiny to leave here today.”

            “But—”

            “Trust me,” he says. “Go save your friend. I will be all right.”

            Percy stares at him, a ball of lead growing in his chest. Every inch of him is screaming that it’s wrong to leave him here. He looks so sick. He needs help!

            “Go,” the centaur says again. “Your friend is in that cell down there.” He lifts a pale, shivering arm and points behind Percy. “And you must hurry. She is injured.”

            At the mention of Annabeth, Percy takes a reluctant step back. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“Thálassa.”

“Your cell door is unlocked now, Thálassa,” he tells the centaur, sternly. “So you can leave as soon as you feel up to it, okay?”

            “Sounds like a plan, Percy Jackson. Thank you. And good luck.”

            Percy spins and sprints down the long rows of cells until he reaches the one the centaur indicated.

            And there, laying in a tight, trembling ball on the stone floor…is Annabeth. She looks even worse than she did in his dream.

            “Annabeth!” Percy strikes off the lock and throws the door wide open, careless of the noise it makes. He doesn’t care anymore. He found her! Oh, gods, he finally found her!

            “Annabeth?” he whispers, dropping to his knees. He shakes her shoulder gently. “Annabeth?”

            Slowly, she starts to come around. Percy’s heart is banging against his ribs. Her hair, which is usually healthy and golden and curly, is washed out and flat against her back like she’s been sick. Her skin is so pale it almost glows in the dark. There’s a patch of dried blood on the moth-eaten prisoner’s uniform she’s wearing, but he can’t tell if it’s her blood or someone else’s.

            Exhausted, grey eyes flutter open and land on Percy’s face, but she doesn’t react right away. It’s like she’s still asleep, or she doesn’t know what she’s seeing.

            Percy is so nervous it feels like he’s pulling apart at the seams. “Annabeth?” he says again, trying to smile. “It’s me, Percy. Are you…all right?”

            Her eyes narrow. “Are you a dream again?”

            He sits back, a big wad of guilt oozing from his heart. “No,” he assures her. “It’s not a dream. I’m really here, Annabeth.” To prove it to her, he scoops up her hand and squeezes so she can feel that he’s real. Her skin is ice cold, so he’s sure his must feel like fire to her. “Grover and Thalia are too. They’re outside, waiting for us.”

            Surely enough, her eyes grow huge and she sits up. For a split second, he thinks she’s going to cry. Her mouth opens and no sound comes out, then her face flushes red and just as he’s preparing for waterworks, he gets blasted with fury instead.

            “PERCY JACKSON, YOU IDIOT. DIDN’T I TELL YOU NOT TO COME HERE!” She punches him in the arm, surprisingly hard for a girl who looked like death two minutes ago. And then, just when Percy thinks she can’t surprise him anymore, she grabs his shirt collar, yanks him in and kisses him.

            They’ve kissed once before, in the volcano with the telekhines during the Labyrinth escapade. But this kiss is different.

            It’s longer, warmer. Annabeth releases his collar and her hands cup his face. His own hands are hovering uselessly somewhere in midair, his brain pulling a total short-circuit on how to do anything. He can’t even remember how to breathe.

            Annabeth’s lips are cold and chapped from the prison cell, but it’s still the best kiss he’s ever had. Ever. Period. No competition.

            When she finally releases him, Percy’s head spins and he stares dumbly at her until Annabeth cracks a smile and says, “Breathe, Seaweed Brain.”

            Oh, right. Breathing.

            He takes a small breath. “Umm—” he says intelligently. “I’m, uh…” He clears his throat. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

            Annabeth looks down at herself and snorts. “Okay might be a bit of a stretch,” she admits. “How did you get in here? I thought this whole castle was warded against half-bloods. They had to do this whole special ritual to get me inside.” Her grey eyes are alight with fascination. She can’t wait to hear what cunning act of wisdom allowed him to get passed the warding outside.

            “Um…” He shifts uncomfortably. “Annabeth—”

            But before he gets a chance to tell her, the prison door crashes open. “WHERE IS HE!”

            “Oh, no!” Annabeth whispers. She grabs Percy by his arm and practically slings him behind her. “The bedroll,” she hisses. “Move it. Hurry!”

            He doesn’t question her. He slides the bedroll over and, much to his shock, he finds a hole in the stone about two feet deep.

            “Get in, now! My scent will cover yours and they won’t know you’re here. Do it now!”

            He obeys, weird as it feels. Maybe if he was still a half-blood, he would put up a fight, but now that he’s mortal, he can’t risk being spotted. He climbs into the hole and Annabeth tugs her bedroll back over top of it. It sinks in a bit when she lays on top and pretends to be asleep.

            Thundering monster feet approach her cage a second later. “Annabeth Chase!” one of them bellows. “Where is the son of Poseidon? We know he came in here!”

            “Son of Poseidon?” Annabeth asks innocently. “You mean Percy? Percy’s here?”

            “Don’t play dumb, girl; it’s an insult to your mother,” one of the monster says. “Where is he? Tell us now.”

            “He isn’t here,” Annabeth says coldly. “Do you think I’d still be here if he was?”

            “Her cell is empty,” one of the other monsters points out.

            The first creature growls in frustration and the whole lot of them turn and run back out to continue the search elsewhere.

            Percy waits until he can’t hear them anymore to poke Annabeth through the bedroll. She moves aside and pulls the roll back so he can climb out.

            “We have to go,” she whispers. “Before they come back.”

            “Agreed,” Percy says.

            They get up and, while Percy checks the dungeon, Annabeth breathes deeply and tries to gain her balance. Apparently, her condition is just as bad as it first appeared to be. Percy circles back and loops one of her arms over his shoulder and, together, they trudge toward the exit.

            Percy stops next to the centaur’s cage. “Last chance to come with us,” he says, trying to listen for monsters through the door.

            “Who?” Annabeth asks.

            “The centaur. In there.” He gestures into the cell.

            “Percy,” Annabeth says. “There’s no one in there.”

            “What? Yes, there—" He stops, staring. The cell is empty. Not only is it empty, it’s also shut with a rusted padlock. Except, he struck the lock of that cell, he’s certain of it.

            Head spinning, Percy turns in a full circle. “He’s…gone?”

            A distant thump makes Annabeth flinch. “Well, anywhere is better than in that cell,” she says. “So he’s probably fine, whoever he is. We need to go.”

            “Yeah…” Percy says, but he has an eerie feeling that no one was ever in the cage. Maybe the centaur was a ghost, or an illusion, or…or a vision sent to him by somebody.

As Percy and Annabeth slip into the hallway outside of the dungeon, a drop of water plops onto his head from the dry ceiling above. It’s only a drop, but he knows sea water when he feels it.

Of course. Thálassa is Greek for “sea.”

_Well played, Dad._


	9. The Prophecy Comes To Fruition

There are monsters everywhere.

            Leucrocotta, giant snakes, shades, and other assorted demons, all roaming the black halls of the castle. Percy and Annabeth cling to each other, quite literally, in terror. No matter how powerful they might be, they don’t stand a chance against so many enemies at once. Especially now that Percy is mortal, not that Annabeth knows that…yet.

            “I swear a I smell a half-blood,” some horrible creature says in the darkness. Percy and Annabeth duck around a corner and wait for it to slither by.  Once it does, they step back out and keep tip-toeing.

            They’ve long since lost their sense of direction.

            Percy literally cannot find the entrance to the well to save his life. Which is just fantastic, obviously. Nothing better than one useless mortal and one injured demigod wandering aimlessly through a pitch black, monster-infested castle in a forest on an island while a god hunts them down.

            Great fun.

            _Grover,_ Percy says in his mind. _You there?_

_Yeah! What’s going on? Did you find Annabeth?_

_Yeah, I did. She’s fine. She’s with me now._

_Oh, thank gods!_ A rush of delight surges through their empathy link. _Are you on your way out then?_

_Well…I, uh, might have lost the exit—but don’t worry. We got this._

_PERCY! How could you “lose” the exit!_

_Hey! It is pitch-black in here, okay? I’m doing my best._

Grover’s sigh is audible even in Percy’s head. _I know. I know, you’re so brave for even doing this without your powers… Just be careful, man. And tell Annabeth I said hey._

Percy smiles to himself. _I will. Watch yourselves out there. The monsters are in kind of a frenzy at the moment._

_Will do._

Annabeth, whose hand is currently feeling along the wall, grabs his sleeve and tugs – their code for “found a door.” Percy waits while she listens for monsters, and then follows her through. They take only a few steps before hit toe strikes something solid and, because they’re fused at the hip, they both fall forward.

            “Ow…” Percy complains. It feels like they landed on a big pile of flat rocks.

            “Stairs?” Annabeth whispers, which is much more intelligent than “flat rocks.”

            Percy rubs his achy ribs. “Should we…go up?”

            She hesitates. “There’s nothing for us down here,” she points out. “We can’t find the exit. Might as well try, right?”

            It makes sense. “Okay,” he says. “Be careful.”

            They let go of each other in favor of the railing and take each step one at a time, very slowly. It feels like it takes hours to get to the top, and when they do, they realize it’s just a landing and there’s another whole flight going even higher up.

            “Are you all right, Annabeth?” Percy asks.

            “I’m fine,” she says, panting a little. “Just eager to get out of here.”

            “Me too.”

            They rejoin hands at the top of the stairs and find themselves not in a small stairwell like it was at the bottom, but smack-dab in the middle of a huge, open chamber with marble floors, shockingly high, domed ceilings, and ember burning lowly in braziers along the walls.

            Percy feels his stomach sink and his blood freeze in his veins.

            This is the room from his dream.

            “Oh, my gods,” Annabeth breathes. “This is…this is Minos’s castle. It must have moved along with the rest of Western Civilization.”

            Percy isn’t listening. He shrugs off his backpack and starts digging through it. Once he finds the Minotaur horn, he stands and pushes it into Annabeth’s hands.

            “What are you doing?” she asks.

            “This is the only thing that will kill the Minotaur,” he tells her. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to use it.”

            “What? Why me?”

            Just then, every brazier snuffs out and Percy stiffens.

            There’s a sound in the darkness now. _Clip-clop, clip-clop,_ like hooves on the marble floor.

            The Minotaur snorts.

            Percy squints through the dark, but it’s useless. He can’t see it, not until it’s right on top of him.

            Annabeth screams his name as the Minotaur grabs him. His feet lift off the ground and, as much as he struggles, he can’t get away. It has him by the back of his shirt and his collar is cutting into his air supply.

            It throws him as Annabeth strikes with the horn.

            Percy sails through the air. He back strikes the floor with enough force to break bones and he loses consciousness.

 

* * *

 

It’s hard to fight a monster when you can’t even see it.

            Fortunately, the Minotaur stinks like a barnyard. Annabeth follows the reeking stench and strikes with Percy’s horn over and over, grazing fur here and nicking flesh there. She just has to keep it busy until Percy gets his butt back over here with Riptide. Then, she can land a fatal blow.

            It feels like ten minutes go by, but it must only be seconds.

            Annabeth ducks and dodges as the Minotaur roars and tries charging her, and batting at her with meaty, furry arms. She manages to stab into its forearm, but that isn’t enough to kill it. She needs to get around behind, but she can’t do that while it’s fighting her.

            Where is that Seaweed Brain?

            “Percy!” she yells. “What are you doing? I could use some help!”

            Silence.

            “Percy!”

            Nothing.

            A black sense of dread fills Annabeth. Why isn’t he answering? Oh, gods…is he hurt?

            Okay, change of plan. She’s killing this Minotaur now. Somehow.

            Ducking under the Minotaur’s arm, Annabeth bolts for the stairs. _Mother,_ she prays. _Please let this work._

            The Minotaur charges after her as she descends the stairs three steps at a time. When she reaches the bottom, she jumps off and falls into a dead sprint through the door, then stops abruptly and hugs the wall.

            The Minotaur has trouble stopping mid-charge, so it plows right through the doorway and keeps going. Annabeth peels off the wall and runs after it, jumping as high as she can.

            She lands on its smelly back, gagging at the feeling of course bull-fur on her skin. Then, stabbing down with all her might, she plunges the horn into the Minotaur’s back.

            She lands in a pile of the dead monster’s ash.

            “Oh, Athena…” she gasps, breathlessly. “Thank you. Thank you, Mother.”        

            Exhausted and achy, Annabeth clambers back to her feet and hurries up the stairs. The braziers are burning again when she returns and she snatches Percy’s backpack off the floor and her eyes well up when she sees him.

            He’s laying on the floor, motionless.

            Oh, no. No, no, no…

            She runs to him, already digging for the thermos of nectar that he always brings on quests. “Percy?” she asks, her voice high and tight, dropping to her knees beside him.

            He doesn’t react. Her face is slack and there’s blood oozing from his hairline, dripping into his eyes.

            Annabeth’s throat tightens. She gently prods his cheek so that his face is turned upright. She unscrews the thermos lid and says, “Don’t worry, Percy. You’re going to be fine.” She starts to tip the nectar into his mouth, but then—

            “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

            She startles so badly that she drops the thermos before any nectar can make it into Percy’s mouth. Annabeth spins around, leveling the Minotaur horn at the speaker, but then her blood turns to ice.

            “You,” she says. The man in front of her has visited her cell only once. He’s the one everyone calls “master” here.

            He’s tall and lean, with a golden circlet in his black hair and a perpetual smirk on his mouth. He just has the kind of cocky attitude that makes you want to slap him. Today, he’s wearing all black with leather armor and a sword on his hip.

            “Hello, Annabeth,” he says in a friendly voice. “Look at you, escaping from your cell and killing my Minotaur. How very clever. Your mother would be so proud.” Despite his toothy grin, his eyes are coal-black.

            “Who are you?” Annabeth demands.

            “My name is Zalliss, young lady. And I just saved your little boyfriend’s life just now.”

            Annabeth narrows her eyes. “What do you mean you just ‘saved his life’?”

            “I stopped you from feeding him nectar,” Zalliss says naturally, like it should perfectly obvious, but Annabeth doesn’t understand. “Nectar kills mortals, you know.”

            She scoffs. “You’re not very observant, are you?” she says. “Percy is a half-blood, genius.” _That’s strange though,_ she thinks. _If this is the guy who wants to hurt Percy, wouldn’t he already know that he’s a half-blood?_

Zalliss regards her coldly. “Actually,” he says. “Percy Jackson gave up his divinity in order to get through the warding surrounding this castle. He’s mortal now, genius. You’re not very observant, are you?” His mocking tone is exactly the kind of thing that would usually infuriate Annabeth to no end, but his words are what scare her.

            Suddenly, it all makes sense.

            How Percy got through the warding, why Grover and Thalia didn’t come inside with him, why he couldn’t fight the Minotaur…

            Oh, gods…he’s mortal.

            Her eyes fly to the blood on his face and the strange way his body is twisted and her stomach twists like she’s going to be sick.

            “He’s dying, poor thing,” Zalliss says. “At least three or four broken bones, internal bleeding, probably head trauma…tsk, tsk…what a shame.”

            Annabeth’s eyes have gone misty. “Percy?” She touches his cheek, but he doesn’t even flinch.

            Zalliss steps closer, but he doesn’t get far.

            Annabeth is on her feet in a flash, leveling the horn at his throat. She might be a full foot shorter than he is, but she’ll kill him. And she’ll enjoy it.

            “Don’t. Move,” she growls.

            “Annabeth...” Zalliss raises his hands in surrender but that sick smile never leaves his face. “I know you’re hurting, sweetheart, but please be reasonable. Let me take him. At least then, his death will not be for nothing.”

            “Shut up!” she screams. “Shut up!” She doesn’t know what Zalliss wants Percy for but he’ll take him over her dead body.

            “Oh, sweet girl—”

            “I said _SHUT UP!_ ”

            “Look behind you.”

            She doesn’t fall for it, but maybe she should have. After he says that, something hard collides with the back of her head and she collapses.

 

* * *

 

Percy does not wake naturally. Rather, it’s like his consciousness is summoned magically.

            When he opens his eyes, he knows he’s only minutes away from death. He can’t think, he can’t move, he can’t even breathe. But he can see. Almost too well.

            He’s in a room that looks almost like a modern hospital, despite the stone walls and floors. There is a table of scalpels and tools, a bright, fluorescent light overhead, and he’s strapped to an operating table with his arms stretched out like a T and his legs tied together. And he’s upside-down.

            If there was any decent amount of blood left in his body, it would all be draining to his head.

            A man’s legs are in front of him and he is speaking a strange language that Percy knows is ancient without ever having heard it before. Struggling to up—down?—Percy sees that the man is holding a golden chalice and speaking toward the ceiling, as if imploring the gods.

            Percy tries to speak to him, but no voice comes out.

            The man—Zalliss, it must be—places the golden chalice on the floor under Percy’s head and suddenly, memories of his mom’s ex-husband, Gabe, going hunting flash to his mind. He would drag home these disgusting deer carcasses, hang them upside-down in the bathroom and bleed them into buckets so he could clean them.

            All of a sudden, Percy is feeling a lot like one of those deer.

            His heart is barely working, but at that thought, it starts pumping a lot faster.

            _What is this? A sacrifice? To Zalliss’s parents, Eris and Deimos?_

As Zalliss turns his back and goes to the table with the scalpels, Percy squeezes his eyes shut and whispers, “Father, help me.”

            But it isn’t Poseidon who appears in the room in a blinding flash that should have melted his face off. It’s a woman. A goddess, one Percy has never seen.

            She appears in her ten-foot tall form, dressed in a white, Greek gown that whips around her knees as if blown by a harsh wind. Her hair is so flaming red it looks like she’s on fire, and her eyes are the brightest blue he’s ever seen. Eris, the goddess of chaos. She’s more beautiful than Percy ever would have guessed.

            “Zalliss,” she says in a booming voice like exploding fireworks. “Stop this, now!”

            Zalliss’s eyes go huge. He drops to his knees. “Mother!” he exclaims. “You have come! I knew you would!”

            But the goddess’s face is cold. “I do not come to praise you, child,” she says. “I come only to stop you. This is the ritual murder of a child of a god. I will not have it.”

            “But, Mother,” Zalliss tries, sounding more desperate. “I do this for you! In your name!” He stands. His hands are shaking. He points at Percy with his knife. “He is the sea god’s favorite! By killing him, I disgrace Poseidon! I know that you have always coveted his power over the sea, for what is more chaotic than the ocean? Please, mother, let me do this for you! Let me give you this power!”

            Zalliss lunges at Percy. His scalpel just about touches his throat before Eris flicks her hand and her son is sent flying, minor god or not.

            “You are a fool,” Eris growls. “In your vain attempt to draw favoritism from me, you offended one of the most powerful gods in all the universe. Poseidon has requested to have you sent to Tartarus for your crimes.”

            But this time, Zalliss only puffs up. “I do this to help you, Mother, out of love. Not to beg for your attention. I am a god, I do not need you.”

            “Good,” Eris says calmly. “Then I shall not help you.” She snaps her fingers and disappears.

            For one, terrifying moment, Percy thinks she’s abandoned him to die, but then there’s a sound. A guttural _CRACK._ Zalliss looks down and just then, the stone floor splits like paper. Fire and shadows erupt from the fissure like the spew from a volcano. The screams of the damned fill the castle.

            Zalliss stares in horror as Tartarus cracks open beneath his feet.

            As he turns to run, an eagle glides down from the rafters and knocks him into the hole.

            Zalliss screams on his way down, but his voice is cut off as the hole to Tartarus slams shut.

            Percy breathes hard, still tasting blood and smoke. Without Zalliss’s ritual chant keeping him awake, his eyes have begun to roll back into his head. His heart is beating so faintly now even he can’t feel it.

            The eagle lands on the floor in front of him and regards him with curious, dark eyes.

 

* * *

 

When Annabeth wakes up, she is no longer in the castle.

            Soft sand caresses her skin and the ocean mists over her cheeks like a tender hand. The air smells just the way Percy does, like warm sea water. She opens her eyes and finds a burning-blue sky overhead, dashed with clouds and seagulls.

            Annabeth sits up, dazed and disoriented. How did she get here?

            As she scans the beach, she catches a glimpse of a figure further down. Someone laying on their back, dressed in beige cargo shorts and an orange shirt. She stands up, heart thumping. “Oh, my gods,” she says, and starts running.

            It’s Percy.

            Sprinting in the sand is difficult, but she reaches him in a matter of seconds. For a moment there, she hoped that he would look better. Maybe he would just be sleeping, magically healed by some wonderful trick of the Fates. Those beautiful, deep-green eyes of his would open, he would smile, and she would hold him.

            But he isn’t any better.

            Blood cakes the right side of his face and his clumps in the hair over his forehead. His skin is painfully white, and the shadows under his eyes are purple.

            With a cry, Annabeth realizes she can’t even tell if he’s breathing.

            She sits beside him and covers her mouth with her hand, her whole body seizing with sobs. “Percy…” she whispers. “Oh, Percy, no…”

            Carefully, she touches his hand and jumps at the coldness of his skin, but that doesn’t stop her. She moves him like he’s made of paper, taking ten minutes to get him into the waves, which are only two feet away.

            Tears stream down her face and her voice trembles when she says, “Please…” She holds Percy’s hands. “Poseidon,” she prays. “Please, sir. He’s your son.”

            She waits for a response, but none comes, so she continues.

            “I know…I know you’re not allowed to get directly involved…with your children, but…please…just this once…” She wipes her cheeks on her shoulder. “Heal him. Bring him back.”

            The ocean keeps on moving, same as ever. Waves roll in, washing the blood from Percy’s face, but not fixing the injuries they come from. Waves roll out, pulling his blood to sea. The seagulls keep circling, the clouds keep drifting by…

            Poseidon has given his answer.

            Annabeth sniffles. “Mother,” she says, this time. “I know you don’t like him. I know you’re worried about the prophecy, but he _saved_ me, your _daughter_. Surely, that means you owe him some kind of debt, right?” She looks at the sky, searching for an owl, or a glowing light, or something. “Please, Mother, I beg of you…if you have any love for me at all, please help him.”

            But nothing happens.

            Percy’s hair drifts in the tide. Annabeth studies his chest and decides, no. It isn’t moving.

            A son of Poseidon just died in the water.

            The stories say that when his lover, Patroclus, died, Achilles’s mournful screams were heard all the way at the bottom of the sea. If that’s true, then Annabeth’s are heard in Tartarus itself.

            So deep in her misery is she that she doesn’t hear the two pairs of footsteps approach from behind her. A familiar hand settles on her shoulder.

            “Annabeth…” Thalia—she thinks it’s Thalia—says. “Let go of him.” Her voice is unusually gentle. She must be sad.

            “No…” Annabeth says, squeezing Percy’s hands tighter. “Leave me alone.”

            “We’re trying to help,” she says. “But you have to let go.”

            “I’m not leaving him.”

            After a brief silence, another voice says, “Don’t look at me like that, she’s your daughter.” And that voice definitely does not belong to Grover.

            Annabeth looks over her shoulder, but her eyes are blurry with tears. All she can make out is a tall, male figure with black hair and a black beard. It looks like he’s carrying a weapon of some kind. A spear. Or a…trident.

            She whips her head over the other shoulder. The woman touching her shoulder is not Thalia. It’s a face Annabeth has only seen once before, lovely and intelligent and framed with flowing, chestnut hair. “Mother…” she says.

            Athena smiles kindly. It’s not a look Annabeth is used to seeing on her mother’s face. “Daughter, if you wish us to help, you must let him go.”

            Finally, Annabeth obeys. She places Percy’s hands on his chest and stumbles, numbly, out of the water. “But I thought…” she falters. “I thought you weren’t going to help.”

            It’s baffling to see Poseidon and Athena working together, standing shoulder to shoulder. “We needed to speak with my brother, Zeus, first. His permission is required before doing anything as important as bringing a hero back from the dead.”

            “And he said yes?” Annabeth says, bewildered. Zeus is never this lenient. And he doesn’t have any love for Percy.

            “Apparently, his daughter, Thalia, has been praying non-stop for his help,” Athena explains. “Even Zeus cannot deny his old flesh and blood forever.”

            Annabeth’s shocked laugh startles even her. She rubs the tears from her eyes and whispers a quiet, “Thank you,” toward the sky for her grandfather, Zeus.

            With that, Athena and Poseidon step into the waves.

            Annabeth expects a ritual, or a spell, or something. But all they do is touch Percy and his injuries vanish. The blood on his face chips away and dissolves into the sea, his broken limbs straighten and heal, and his skin flushes with color.

            Annabeth is so relieved she cry again.

            But then, something even more unexpected happens.           

            The water around Percy begins to glow a hot-green. Poseidon extends his hand and, out of the water, erupts a disgusting, inky-black shape which he grabs and holds aloft like vermin. It’s a giant, twisting eel.

            “Witch,” the sea god says, voice booming. “Do not make me kill you.”

            Without a word, the eel opens his mouth and a light spills out of it goes into the water around Percy. Poseidon chucks the eel and watches it slither back into the depths. Meanwhile, the glowing water around Percy changes color from green to the most radiant aquamarine ever. It’s so bright Annabeth has to shield her eyes.

            The water and the light absorb into Percy’s skin until he, too, is shining like a lightbulb. “Rise,” Poseidon and Athena say together. “Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon.”

            Percy’s eyes fly open and his back arcs as he gasps a lungful of water and air.

            As he does, the whole ocean rises with him.

 

* * *

 

They meet Thalia and Grover by the boat.

            There’s a lot of hugging and some more crying, and on their way back to the mainland, Thalia doesn’t need to steer. No one does, because the boat breathes with Percy and it practically guides itself back to Long Island.

            There’s a lot of commotion in the sea that day, like even the fish are celebrating the return of Percy’s divinity. During the whole voyage, their little cruiser is flanked by leaping dolphins, breaching whales shooting rainbows into the sky, schools upon schools over every fish you can imagine, hippocampi, sea serpents, etc, etc, etc…

            Percy looks thrilled. Not really with the return of his powers—though Annabeth is sure that’s a huge weight off his mind—but he seems more excited about having her back, and at feeling the ocean again, and at talking to the fish.

            He looks more alive than he ever has before and, secretly, Annabeth wonders if he isn’t a little more than _half_ god now. He’s just radiant.

 

* * *

 

They return to camp and tell Chiron everything that happened. Percy asks him if he has any cousins named Thálassa, though Annabeth isn’t sure where that came from.

            “I don’t know anyone by that name,” Chiron assures him and Percy smiles a little secretively at the ocean. “I cannot begin to express how relieved I am at having you, Annabeth,” he says and she blushes and bows to him.

            “I’m glad to be back,” she says.

            “I suppose now we know how the leucrocotta got in,” Chiron continues. “The rogue god summoned them within our borders to throw us off his trail.”

            Percy sneers at the mention of Zalliss and Annabeth does too.

            “I propose a special banquet tonight to celebrate all the miracles that have happened today,” Chiron announces. “What do you think?”

            The four of them—Percy, Annabeth, Grover, and Thalia—all agree wholeheartedly. Chiron trots out of the Big House to make the announcement and Grover and Thalia follow him, sensing that Percy and Annabeth need a moment alone.

            Once they are, the Big House feels a lot smaller.

            “So,” Annabeth says, rubbing her arm. “You’re a half-blood again.”

            “Yeah, looks like,” Percy says.

            “Congratulations.”

            He smiles awkwardly. “Thanks.”

            “I still think you’re an idiot for agreeing to that in the first place, of course.”

            Percy sighs. “Of course—”

            “But—” Annabeth cuts him off. “You came all the way and risked everything to save me, even knowing how dangerous it was for you. Thank you, Percy.” She leans in and, for the second time in this long, long day, she kisses him.

            His lips are warm and soft and he smells the way he always does, like the beach on a nice summer day. Like clean breezes and something a little sweet, something that is solely Percy.

            “And thank you,” he says when they pull apart. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

            “Let’s not talk about that,” Annabeth says quickly. This has become such a good day. She can’t think about his lifeless body drifting in the waves… Instead, she grabs his hand and smiles. “Come on, Seaweed Brain, let’s go get ready for that banquet!”

            He laughs and follows after her. “Excellent plan, Wise Girl.”


End file.
